At the Last Moment
by Fiona Fargazer
Summary: (Mostly from Cogsworth's point of view) Basically this is a story about when the castle is first cursed, how the servants adjust to this new and horrible change and come to be where they are at the beginning of the movie. Includes freaking out, fighting, desperation, a kidnapping, and at last semi-acceptance before the arrival of Belle and the breaking of the curse.
1. Chapter 1

JMJ

ONE

_NOTE: This is something that had been in the back of my mind for years, at least the premise of it. Every time I watched _Beauty and the Beast_ I'd think how it would be interesting to see a story about how the servants got used to being inanimate objects, but I never thought I could write something interesting enough about the subject aside from the initial "ACK! I'm an inanimate object!" But last time I watched _Beauty and the Beast_ I played some things out with my sister, and something more like a story came to me, and the things that could happen. Oh, and I'm mostly been using only what is seen in the original movie. Except the whole thing with the prince being 11 years old when he's cursed didn't make sense to me, so the meaning of the 21st birthday thing I've had to mean his next birthday at the time he was cursed was going to be his 21st, but he wouldn't really be 21 until the last petal falls. So basically he's twenty when the story begins. Most scenes will be mostly from Cogsworth's point of view cuz he's my favorite. And that's about it. I hope you like it. ^-^_

Four thirty-two.

About a half hour remained before the earliest guests would begin to arrive. Oh, this was cutting it close.

Cogsworth closed his eyes and let out the tiniest moan. No one was around in the hallway, but the Master was just on the other side of the door. Cogsworth clipped his pocket watch shut and let it fall into its usual spot hanging just outside his pocket.

"You called for me, sir?" he asked as he came through the doorway with a cautious bow.

A pair of dark blue eyes met him with brows arched over his otherwise quite princely face in such a way that he appeared something of a cross between a sulky six-year-old and an animal ready to bite. Not of course that any of the Master's household would suggest such a thing even amongst each other, but the Master did not hide his feelings, especially those of the negative variety. The only thing one could wonder freely and with much remorse was: _Whatever is the matter now?_ For they loved the Master just as they had the Master before him, his father; though his father would not have been happy to see what had become of the son.

"Yes," said the Master. Somehow he retained what he could muster as composure; though flames looked ready to burst behind those eyes. "Cogsworth. Explain to me. Why are Comte Simon and Comtesse Adele among the guests?" He spoke quickly and with much annoyance.

Cogsworth was taken aback and fumbled a little with uneasy fingers. "Well, I … Monsieur Count St. Gervais … they were on the usual list. Isn't that …" he paused. "Isn't that what you wanted, Master? The _usual_ list?"

"I despise her."

This meant Count and Countess's daughter Monique. She had a good natured and sensitive soul; anyone with perceptiveness could see that. The Master however only perceived her natural instinct toward being straight forward. And unfortunately the Master needed quite a lot of this, and as much as he needed such honesty he despised it. It did not matter her candidness, nor that she spoke without the least bit of malicious intent, nor that she spoke in private, nor even what the correction happened to be. In between a dance in which young Monique had the honor to have the handsome Adam as her partner, one word of constructive criticism gave her the bitterest enemy. Well, it could be said also in her behalf that the Master, had been the one to ask what Monique thought, and she honestly gave her opinion. That was the end of his good graces towards the delicate creature or her parents.

Perhaps she did deserve better, some might have suggested, as much as it pained his loyal servants to think so, yet perhaps such a person as Monique was just what the Master needed. One could never know.

As for inviting the family, well, the Master always held enmity against someone or other, and it was hoped that he would have forgiven her by this time.

_C'est dommage! _He had not.

Cogsworth cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, it might be advisable to let them still come as they already are well on their way from Paris, after all. They're probably on their way from the village right now, in fact! And it wouldn't look too … um … well, good as far as good manners are concerned, your Excellency." He tried to smile to show that he meant not to be patronizing in any sort of way, but it turned out to be a rather sickly expression, and his slight nervous chuckle did not help his case.

The Master glared in return.

"Yes," said Cogsworth, grim face returning after a false cough. "Well, I suppose I could have them ... turned away."

"I don't want that girl anywhere on my grounds."

Cogsworth sighed. "It will turn into another 'Monsieur DuPont incident', and the count is held in much higher esteem as an upright character. Not to mention of a nobler family line to go with it. He's practically a cousin! It will not be looked favourably upon. At least the writer Monsieur DuPont—"

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion?"

"No! I—I am sorry, your grace," the servant said, clasping his hands together. "I shall have them removed immediately as they set foot on the premise, but I _beg_ you to reconsider." Here his clasped hands became prayerful in nature.

"Just go!" said the Master. "And don't let her come."

Cogsworth bowed and withdrew with great reluctance, closing the door behind him. Once out in the corridor he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead a bit, but his habit of pulling out his watch proved far more prominent even though it had hardly been five minutes since last he looked upon it. It had felt longer. Any conversation with the Master in one of his moods felt hours in length.

Tucking the watch away, Cogsworth resumed his composure and set out rather bleakly to inform the house that at the sight of the Comte de St. Gervais or his family, they were to be asked politely to leave.

Had the Master no sense of shame?

The king already wanted little to do with his nephew of his youngest brother. He had made that quite clear, and the Master did not seem to find it anyone's fault but his uncle's, which was a frightening thought indeed if that ever came out.

Cogsworth cringed at the thought of what the other nobility would say about this situation with the count as it was. The author DuPont was considered by many to be much too blunt and a tad uncouth at times. Some did not like him at all. It had just been fashionable at that time to invite him, so to turn him out of the house on what the Master considered uncalled for comments was not looked too horribly upon, but this?! Cogsworth would have preferred lightning to strike the ballroom than this. Then at least the party could be put off, and the St. Gervais family forgotten in the rewriting of the next guest list.

Oh, the good name of the Master's family! It was a lamentable thing.

His father Robert had been the very picture of good graces. His manners. His cordiality. His suave way of speaking, of ending arguments, of making the best of small talk, and of making guests of all sorts feel welcome. His parties were the talk of Europe. Even the common people had like him, and he treated his tenants with all charity, which although was not necessary to be approved by the elite was an added bonus to his character. Of course the reason for his approval by the lower classes was the fact that he married a common woman.

_Well, one could not be everything_, Cogsworth supposed.

The head of the household at this time, you see, had a strong belief about people remaining in their stations of life and not interfering with that balance.

Regardless of that, any minor faux pas was better than how the late Master Robert's son decided to run things around here. The common people disliked him, his tenants feared his wrath and of being turned out for minor infractions, and his peers had mixed feelings: some were disgusted, some tolerated him but probably only for his looks and good stature not to mention wealth which he loved to show off, some were just as rude and thus did not mind him at all, and a good many of his peers simply thought young Adam laughable, which was the worst of all, or so Cogsworth had thought before this calamity with Monique.

"Ah, it's just a classic case of misunderstanding," said Lumiere when he heard the news. "Time could mend it and such personalities often form the strongest bonds. They could see someday."

Cogsworth snorted. "They could. If Mademoiselle Monique's father ever wants her to have anything to do with the Master after this disaster!"

"Oh, he could forgive him," said the other. "I think the count's daughter and the Master are a better match than even the princess of Prussia who came here last year."

"Stop being optimistic about this," ordered Cogsworth. "Though, I must admit that it is at least better her having come from Paris and not all the way from Prussia, but then again if she was from Prussia then at least she would be far away from France when this was all over!"

"Her being from Paris makes all the world of difference," said Lumiere with a sweep of his arm and a wry smile.

"Don't. You. Dare. Start with Paris," said Cogsworth with a firm shake of his finger, and he took out his watch. "The first guests will be here any moment now, and as you are in charge of greeting the guests it's your duty to ask Comte de St. Gervais and his family as politely as possible to leave the premises if it is in your ability to obey such a command. I will be the one held responsible later if you don't, and I won't be blamed for such things again. If this does turn into the Monsieur DuPont fiasco, I won't like it. You allowed him entrance after a specific order to _not_ let him in. I don't care what he wrote in his silly books. Romantic nonsense or whatever. He was ordered not to reenter. You _are_ listening , aren't you, Lumiere?"

Cogsworth was quite aware that he was not as he had already begun to hum _Sous le Ciel de Paris_ whether out of time or not. By the middle of Cogsworth's ramblings, and especially at the mention of Monsieur DuPont's "silly books" he actually began to sing his favorite verse in his best imitation of the compelling voice of Yves Montand.

_« … Mais le ciel de Paris_

_A son secret pour lui_

_Depuis vingt siècles  
Il est épris  
De notre île Saint Lou-i-i-i-is—!_

_Quand elle lui sourit  
Il met son habit bleu … »_

"Fine then," said Cogsworth, "but if I hear you've let them in—"

"Oh, stop worrying about your own head," laughed Lumiere pushing Cogsworth on his way. "I know what's to be done."And here he did become a tad grim. "It won't bode well later for the Master."

"Exactly! Keep that up," Cogsworth muttered pulling back. "There's nothing optimistic about this situation. And no more singing out of century. It bothers me. Paris in love with the island of Saint Louis. Skies in love. Dressing in blue. Jealous of lovers. What nonsense. And nonsense we don't have time for."

In a broad motion he turned to leave on his own now with a punctual air about him.

"Ah, your ancient and cold family blood of _Angleterre_ runs far too deep, my friend," Lumiere called after.

Cogsworth shook his head but continued to leave. "Four generations, Lumiere. Four generations."

"And they haven't warmed your blood yet," teased Lumiere.

"There is such a thing as being _too_ hot, you know."

Satisfied with having the last word, Cogsworth clasped his hands around his back and held a posture perfect in every way, except maybe too much pomp. He left around a corner too far away to be bothered anymore.

But it would not have mattered, Lumiere with a knowing shake of his head stepped outside then, for they had been standing close to the main entrance doorway. He lit a candle in a bright and cheery lantern just on the other side of the door, and it burned with a soft glow through the gentle falling snow to guide the guests toward the party.

And as for Cogsworth, he forgot about his character clash with Lumiere and set out at once to see if everything had been finished for the guests, even if it was cutting it a tad short and he was not in the best of temper with the thought of the count and countess in the back of his mind.

"Look at the time now," he said pointing to his watch with irritation. "The table is in need of fixing." And "Perrine, why hasn't that unsightly thing been removed?" "Bernard, lift that over there." And "The supper! Chef Honoré, It isn't as close to done as it should be." He pointed to his watch.

"Dinner won't be out until eight, don't put your business into the cooking." He was one of those who did not like to put up with Cogsworth's manner of getting things done, and as a cook, thought him more in the way than anything on occasions like these. "If I finish it too early it will either get cold or overcooked. Then we'll see how you'll explain that to the Master."

#

It was a beautiful evening. The stars twinkled like silver lamps in the sky. The moon shone bright, and a soft cloud allowed for a gentle sprinkling of tiny flakes from time to time. A night could not be more perfect in every way. The guests came in arrayed like Christmas ornaments in stunning colors of every hue imaginable, and these colors painted the waxed ballroom floor with reflections like a dream in watercolor beneath. And the music flowed through the room by the finest musicians in all of France. The food tasted more delightful than anything in all of Europe by the finest of chefs.

Even the host of the evening seemed taken by this lovely scene. Though, the very sight of the count and his family would have started him up again as the household knew too well.

Cogsworth tried very hard not to get too carried away by the pleasure of the evening himself, but he could not help but pause to watch the glistening jewel of a scene where the party took place. The Christmas parties had always been a favorite for everyone in the castle including himself. It really was too bad that it had to end so badly with the name of the family being at stake. This day of all days for a name to be ruined; the day was meant to bring hope not devastation.

Then he saw them.

The Comte and the Comtesse St. Gervais!

In the castle?

In the ballroom?

And Monique!

She was dancing!

Oh, if only the ball was a masquerade! Oh, if only the ball was a costume party!

The Master?

He was busy with other entertainment at the moment.

Cogsworth at least sighed in relief for that, but how had they …

_Lumiere_!

Trapped now deciding whether he should speak to the count and countess himself, or go to Lumiere right away, Cogsworth felt beside himself with distress and anger and frustration he did not need. The thought of turning the count and countess out was near unbearable, but the thought of the Master discovering them first was far worse, and the thought that Lumiere had yet again failed to do his job properly caused him to want to just explode.

Well, there was no use going to Lumiere and making a scene now, he decided.

He had to go to the Count and Countess.

"Oh …" he moaned.

Twiddling his fingers a little, he then took a deep breath, adjusted his wig and his jacket and made all determined effort to do what had to be done, in the best interest of everyone involved.

He cleared his throat, looking as humble as he possibly could without appearing to cower.

"Ah, Monsieur Comte," said Cogsworth, with an eye out for the Master as he bowed.

The count stopped and looked with a nod of attention.

"I hate to disturb you, sir," Cogsworth proceeded slowly and with utmost care as if in hope that some miracle would prevent his having to go through this horrible task. "But there is something that I need to say."

"Yes?" asked the count, his wife beside him raising her brow curiously at the servant's odd behavior.

"Is something wrong?" asked the Countess Adele.

Taking a deep breath as he glanced quickly to where the Master had been standing, he opened his mouth to speak again but stopped quite abruptly when he saw that the Master had vanished. On impulse he turned around.

Adam had vanished!

No, no, he could not have vanished of course. He had simply moved, but where? Had he seen the count and countess? Or worse had he seen Monique?

"There seems …" said Cogsworth returning to the count and countess with wringing hands.

"What is it?" demanded the count. "What's wrong?"

"Is it serious?" asked the countess.

Both looked at him with earnest impatience.

"Serious?" asked Cogsworth with a jittery smile. "Why in the world should it be something …" he cleared his throat, composure returning. "Pardon me. There seems to have been a mistake, countess and — and count. Of course. I regret to say that there has been some mistake with the, um, guest list, and that your invitations were not meant to be sent, I regret to inform you, and out of formality I must ask you with the humblest apologies from the Master that you leave the castle."

The count and countess looked at each other as if unsure that they heard correctly and that both mentally asked the other if the other had heard differently.

"In fact," said Cogsworth. "He would not want you to suffer from the embarrassment of your being here a moment longer. There simply isn't enough dishes to spare and places to sit for you because of this mistake for which my Master begs with all meekness to be forgiven."

"Does he?" said the count.

One did not often hear "meekness" in the same phrase in which the Master was mentioned.

"We mean you the best of Christmas, all the twelve days and the Epiphany, and that a new year brings you the best of health and of happiness to you and your family and especially your dear charming daughter Mademoiselle Monique who is held in the highest regard in this house and that we hope that a better arrangement can be made in the future, and that this causes no too large of an inconvenience to either—"

"_You_?"

Luckily the instruments were loud enough to drown this cry from disturbing the entire ballroom. Some people nearby did hear it looking up toward the sound, but Cogsworth did not need to turn to know that cry anywhere, nor what it was all about.

Rolling his eyes into their sockets like a pair of snails recoiling into their shells, Cogsworth let out a mournful moan, throwing his hand against his forehead.

The count and countess' attention had left the butler, and immediately drew into the situation between their daughter and the Master.

And what happened afterward when Cogsworth dared to open his eyes, he could not believe. He knew the Master. He had known him all his life since the moment he was born. He should not have been as surprised as he was about what happened next, but so far in all his life since his coming out party every fiasco could be covered up. That was only four years ago, nearly five now with his birth month of January coming fast, but here it all ended. Five years of life now ended for the Master. It could take years to mend what he did now before all the elite of France!

All Cogsworth could do was close his eyes again and try not to weep and try not to think of the good name of Adam's father.

It just was not fair!

He could sense the eyes of the other servants sharing his dismay from out of the way and behind the guests.

There flew the Master's temper. Yelling in public at the sweetest girl Cogsworth had seen in a long time, and everyone else agreed. Her mother and father were frozen in shock at the display of how the Master told how the girl should not be here, how the girl was a wretched creature and a number of other things. It did not last long before the count snatched his daughter out of the way and called the Master's behavior outright beastly, and that unfortunately was the word. He had looked about to bite off Monique's head like a wolf about to bite the head of a kitten.

And as for the other guests…


	2. Chapter 2

JMJ

TWO

His face held a downright sulk as he slumped deep in his armchair with fingers digging into the arms, and he glowered into the fire like a person at least half his age put on a time out, and he was supposed to be twenty years of age. He hardly acted so. The little dog, Biscuit, sniffing at his feet and laying down upon them did little to comfort Adam as his mind brooded over the last evening.

First the girl and her parents had showed up uninvited. Then her father had the audacity to call his behavior unwarranted. Then taking his wife and his daughter the count left forthwith declaring never to return.

Adam was the master of the castle! He had every right to decide who entered and who did not. On the day of the Christmas party of all days to be derided and to have his hospitality questioned.

The other guests had said very little on the subject once the St. Gervais family was escorted out the door. However they got in was another matter altogether which slipped Adam's mind even still. All that mattered to him was that they had come, and that they had ruined the party, for half the guests had begged to be excused not half way through the party so that some had left even before the dinner. The ones that remained all night had left quite early in the morning too. The planned luncheon had gone to waste. Not a one had a remained.

The outdoor events would have been worthless anyway for the wind and the snow had been coming down hard and furious since just after the guests had left.

He blamed the whole thing on Monique.

Calling for a servant to stoke up the fire now, he took a drink from his half filled wine glass and grumbled half formed insults about the girl and her family and anyone else who had besmirched him in the past. He recalled Mademoiselle Laurette who had been so disgusted with him that she had left the castle without a word of parting. There had been his cousin Princess Adrienne who had slapped him for his treatment toward her friend from Scotland, the Lady Rose. And it was not only girls who got in on it. There was the Spanish Diego who demanded a dual between himself and Adam for his treatment to his sister the Señorita Esperanza (Adam's servants just barely managed to keep their Master from killing himself by fighting against such an excellent swordsman). A man from the French settlements in the Americas called him plenty of crude names behind his back, and of course who could forget the disaster with Monsieur DuPont who made fun of Adam in front of his guests not but a few months ago at that summer garden party. Even the king had snubbed him more than once; though for the most part just fell to ignoring his nephew as though he did not know who he was at all.

The fire having been stoked, the servant withdrew, but just as he left the room another servant stepped in.

"Pardon me, Master," said Lumiere bowing as he stopped just inside the doorway.

Without looking up, the Master muttered, "What?" He closed his eyes allowing the steam above his head to better steep.

"There is someone at the door for you."

"Right now?" the Master demanded throwing his head around toward him, which caused Lumiere the slightest jump. "What time is it anyway? Why didn't you just tell them to come back later?"

"Because she's requesting a place to stay, Master," said Lumiere. "It's the coldest it's been this winter. The wind's been howling and the snow has been absolutely ferocious. The village is almost ten miles away, and for an elderly woman that would be—Master?"

Without a word the Master brushed past the servant and went straight for the front door. The little dog trotted faithfully after him, wagging his tail.

#

"Ruin. Absolute ruin. It's not bad enough that the Master has already been for the most part rejected by his own extended family since his father's death, including might I add, the king of France himself, but this? I've never seen such a display in all my life."

It was a lament rather than a rant or even a complaint. The head of the household mourned the loss of reputation for which they tried so desperately to keep in the absence of Adam's father.

Mrs. Potts shook her head sadly as Cogsworth continued.

"Since the age of five he's seen no form of parental devotion of any sort. The closest things he's had since are perhaps the governesses and a few masters of expertise and study who could not abide him; all came and went, and now, well, maybe you and your devotion Mrs. Potts might serve for some sort of motherly affection, but still. If only Prince Robert and the Princess Estelle were still here. None of this would have happened. Alas! What are we the household when it comes to that temper of the Master's? We might as well be part of the décor for how much he heeds our councils. And now … I _knew_ this would happen one day."

"Going on about it, won't help," Mrs. Potts said quietly.

Cogsworth was near to banging his head against the window out through which the snowstorm raged with a white fury.

"He shall be banished from France!"

"I doubt it will go that far, Mr. Cogsworth," said Mrs. Potts.

"Well, unable to show his face in public again then as far as the court of the Russian tsar," Cogsworth closed his eyes and drummed his fingers upon the small table just to the side of the window. "He shall be forced to suffer the hardships of the Americas and lose the meaning of his noble title to escape his shame."

Mrs. Potts was not looking at him during the conversation but was finished putting empty dishes onto a tray. As she spoke she sounded as if at least part of her mind lay elsewhere.

"No one has died," she pointed out with a calm sensibility, "despite the embarrassments."

"If only someone had died rather than this," moaned Cogsworth. "Or at least that someone got something stuck in his throat at the dinner table and we had to call for the doctor."

"You don't mean that," said Mrs. Potts.

"No, I suppose not," Cogsworth muttered with a heavy sigh. "But what are we to _do_, Mrs. Potts?"

He turned surprised to see her pushing the cart away.

"I—" he started to say after her.

"Nothing for now," Mrs. Potts said back to him and stopped, turning to him. "Nothing has come of it yet, Mr. Cogsworth. Don't fret about something that hasn't happened yet. My advice to you right now is to relax. Have you had much rest since the night before the party? Go to your quarters. Have a nice hot cup of chamomile with a generous dab of honey, and set yourself for going to bed early. There will be nothing more you'll need to do tonight. Nights after events are always the slowest. I'll keep things in order until the Master's in bed."

"How very practical of you," muttered Cogsworth in defeat. "And most good of you, Mrs. Potts."

"Yes, well, you're good for very little in the state you're in right now, you know," said Mrs. Potts in a kind tease, and she smiled as she started the cart up again heading toward the kitchen.

Watching her go a moment, he saw the door open and the light of the kitchen form a sharp-cut shadow of her form with the cart stretched out on the floor.

"Chip," he heard her say to her youngest child of ten. "What are you doing up this late?"

His true name was Frèdéric, but most everyone called him now by the nickname of Chip, which though had nothing to do with his true name was a shortened from "Chipper one" or just "Chipper", which his parents had begun calling him before the age of two. It had now since been shortened. His true name had nearly been forgotten by some.

The little boy now eight could be heard bounded on echoing footsteps giving his excuses in his innocent manner for not being at least in the servants' quarters down stairs: something about the Master's dog getting downstairs somehow and how Chip the noble hero had to set this all right. The dog was now nowhere in sight; though he had taken to barking somewhere not long before Cogsworth's lament.

Mrs. Potts closed the door behind her, and the voices became muffled into words indiscernible.

Cogsworth turned back to the window, and this time did bang his head against the glass as no one happened to be around anymore, at least near enough to see. He could still hear the footsteps of other servants finishing up evening chores besides Mrs. Potts. All in the keeping of the castle spotless and in proper order as it should be. If the Master lost his reputation as an irascible host he could at least never lose his reputation for a good ordered house as long as Cogsworth was in command of domestic affairs.

Straightening himself into a more proper position, and checking his watch to see just how early it happened to be, he took it upon himself to take Mrs. Potts' advice for now. He resolved that tomorrow he would resume his position to full strength once again. Thus with this optimism that he would not allow Lumiere he set off to his quarters feeling a little more himself; his lightness of step regained somewhat.

_She is right, after all_, he thought. _Nothing has happened yet, and we shall write as many apologies as can be mustered. Perhaps we may even be able to convince the Master to apologize in person … well, maybe not, but it could still be worked out._

The Master was still young yet. He still had a chance to learn, right? Thirty was the age of full growth. He still had at least a decade before that. Perhaps by then he will have found someone that would be able to withstand his hot temper, and then he could settle down into a normal state of family life. That often tamed people well enough for outward appearances. Yes, that was it. Perhaps Lumiere was right about that.

_Yes, yes, just stay positive, _Cogsworth told himself._ Just stay positive. Not overly optimistic, of course, but a little positivity never did anyone any harm._

_RRWWWWAARRRRRRR!_

_Except to deflate one's hopes_, he thought in dismay as he swiveled toward that horrible sound.

"What was that?" he asked out loud.

It sounded like the Master, and yet some other sound too like a great bear had been released into the castle. What in all the world could have happened, Cogsworth did not know, but he hurried toward the main entrance from where the sound had come, half tripping over himself at the corners in the corridors.

"What's going on?" a servant girl managed to ask before he passed her by.

"I don't know!" Cogsworth called back. "Just call for help. I think an animal has gotten into the castle."

And indeed he was stopped suddenly by another horrible roar coming from the staircase. He turned sharply to the maid.

"Go get help!" he ordered, thrusting a finger in the opposite direction he was going. "At once!"

The maid nodded and flew away.

Cogsworth made it to the staircase; though a tad uncertain now of whether or not he should go on. He heard something of the Master again and the roar to go with it as if the Master right now was in some epic battle with the Minotaur in the center of the maze.

"Master!" he called.

Less determined but not too slower in pace Cogsworth raced up the stairs, but he hardly reached the first landing when something else happened from behind, and he found himself turning round to the great wave of change below him.

First he noticed the wind as though the front doors had been left wide open, and all of winter came blasting into the castle, but it was more than winter. A dark light swept up like a dam had burst and flooded with a roar through the hallways and corridors leaving behind it a trail of nightmarish horror.

Dumbstruck at this ethereal sight the head of the household stumbled back onto the landing, for even then the wave came barreling up the stairs towards him, barreling towards him as it was everyone else in the entire castle from the cooks to the valets, from the strong stable master still out in the stables, to the smallest babe in the maidservant's quarters, to the horses, to the lapdog, to the hounds, to the cat, the birds, and every living thing. Even the mice below the basement were not safe, not a leaf in the indoor garden. And as that blackness thrashed against them all swallowing them whole, all they had known changed forever.

The doors of the castle clamped shut and sealed all with a terrible bang that echoed like thunder through the halls before one last deafening roar from the Master's chambers above.

#

"Get help at once …" Cogsworth muttered with a moan.

He must have tripped and hit his head for he felt at once that he was on the floor and not in bed or on a sofa.

Maybe that was where that strange dream had come from. The monster and the wave of blackness and all that. Absurd sort of thing. The sort of thing that proved yet again that Mrs. Potts was right about stress getting to him.

The next thing he noticed, though he could not recall when last he had been conscious, was that he must have tripped next to one of the clock tower stands that stood at the corners of some of the corridors. He was still having trouble recovering from his fall and his near delirious dream that it felt near as though the ticks and the tocks were right inside his head. He could feel the vibrations of it through his entire body.

Oh, he must have hit his head hard, and yet he did not have as strong of a headache as one would expect with such effects. There was a strange feeling in the back of his head, but otherwise he felt nothing too painful. Perhaps when he stood up the ache would simply pound upon him, yet he had no desire to lie on the floor in what he assumed to be the middle of the night, for at first it seemed to him that all was as dark as a tomb and as silent as a graveyard aside from the loud echoes of the ticking clock.

Maybe it was one of those pre-waking dreams, and he had not yet fully awakened. Had he gone down to his quarters with a cup of tea and got into bed? He could not recall.

Then slowly the sense of hearing grew past the small perimeter around him, and he heard what he thought sounded like someone sobbing. No, more than one person sobbing; though it proved difficult to tell how many with the way the corridors echoed so in the middle of the night.

Opening his eyes now, Cogsworth was quite surprised to see that he rested on the landing as he had been in his dream before he woke. This at once disturbed him, and he tried to get to his feet and brush away any cobwebs of dream and reclaim full consciousness and sense of mind. He did not receive his desired wish. In fact all seemed less certain than before when he found to his dismay that he had great difficulty in getting to his feet and that the ticking did not seem to come from anywhere as there were no clocks anywhere near the landing or the staircase at all. And speaking of the stairs they seemed to have grown quite large.

It was one of those pre-waking dreams, after all! One of those dreams where one wishes to wake but is not allowed.

The sobs below turned more wretched than before, and a shudder went through him in the darkness by himself, and that shudder caused a strange rattling that made him stop immediately. He gave up temporarily in his pursuit to get into an upright position, and he stared helpless at the black ceiling far, far above.

The blackness that had turned the beautiful castle with its white halls, its indoor flowers, its statues, stain glass and paintings of angels, fine horses, beautiful ladies and handsome knights into a Transylvanian nightmare of gothic gargoyles, grotesques and halls like a mausoleum to the forsaken. It still had not left. All still remained as it had after the wave of darkness had washed over all in his dream, except now it felt more real.

He covered his face with his hands, and then, well, he noticed his hands.

"_WAH_!"

But he did not dwell on those for too long, for as far as looking down at himself, he found the rest of his body to be in a far worse state than his hands. And it quite explained where the ticking had come from. Back and forth the pendulum swayed with the rhythm as steady as a heart's beat, and it could be seen right through him through a single, thin piece of glass and nothing more. The pendulum swung inside his otherwise empty body or what was left of it.

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_!" he screamed, grabbing the sides of his head, which slammed rather painfully into the landing again.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's just a dream! Just a dream!" he told himself. "Nothing to worry about!" And he laughed. It was all too ridiculous for him to do much else. The most ridiculous dream he had ever had in fact! "Just a dream! You'll wake up soon. Just a ridiculous, cruel dream that could only mean that your nerves are more on edge than you thought. Yes, yes, of course. Troubled nerves." Again he laughed in a manner that sounded just a little crazy. "Just wake up and have a hot cup of tea and honey or better yet a strong sip of brandy with …"

Then he heard something from up the stairs, and as Cogsworth opened his eyes they nearly popped out of their sockets. With a shriek he squeezed his eyes shut again and cringed as a great and terrible beast leapt right over him and down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps the monster roared.

"SHUT UP!"

Silence. Instant silence.

The Master then like a lion ravaged up the stairs. Oh, to Cogsworth's dismay, he knew it was the Master, and the Master again leapt past him as if he did not see Cogsworth there, but then why should he have noticed him; he was smaller than the Master's dog. The Master stormed to his chambers slamming the door behind him, and he growled all the way like some rabid creature.

With a heavy sigh, Cogsworth relaxed into a sort of wretched defeat, and he lay there not caring to move. If this was a dream he would wake eventually, and if not …

He gulped.

"If not" was too frightening to enter right now.


	3. Chapter 3

JMJ

THREE

For a long time he lay there. He would not have known how long if the clock that was his body did not tell him. He never allowed himself to chime after the first hour, but the passage of time if he let it would read upon his face, and even that was not necessary for he could always sense the time in his mind as if his old pocket watch had lodged itself in his brain. He could not express how much he despised the irony in that. Some sick joke on his habits. It was not fair!

Hours went by, and during that time everything remained silent. No sobbing resounded. No more roaring from the Master. Just his thoughts and the ticking of his body and the creaks and moans of any great structure of man from the castle surrounding him, save they sounded far more weary and ominous than they ever had in the past.

Cogsworth did fall asleep from time to time somehow but awoke the last time from such dreamless slumber to a different sound amidst the dreary scene. That sound he had never considered more welcoming in all his life. It was the trotting and panting of the dog.

"Biscuit!" he cried, sitting quite upright for the first time, and at last scrambling to his feet with the help of the rail he looked down the steps.

The dog barked, or at least it sounded like the dog. It did not look like Biscuit any longer, and Cogsworth could not help but moan.

The dog seemed equally as upset, but for a different reason. He was quite confused about the situation, not of himself, truly, but of the strange inanimate object that sounded like a human he had known before around the castle. He ran up the stairs to investigate, for he had already found quite a number of mysteries quite similar in nature.

He sniffed and barked and toppled over what used to be the head of the household.

"Stop, stop, stop that at once!" Cogsworth ordered. "Off!"

He fell over onto his face. "Ack!"

"Down!" He snapped, his voice muffled by the floor. "Sit."

The dog obeyed and Cogsworth lifted his head.

"Good dog," he grumbled. "Now!"

As he reached for the rail again to pull himself up, Cogsworth saw that the dog was leaving him back down the steps again.

"Wait!" he cried despite himself. "Bad dog! Come back!"

Biscuit did not seem to notice.

"Biscuit!" Cogsworth called. "Biscuit! Sit! Idiotic dog! Come! Halt! Down! Shake! Roll over! Fetch!"

With an abrupt halt Biscuit looked back and cocked what served for his faceless head.

"Yes! Yes, come, Biscuit! Fetch!"

Biscuit barked happily and bounded around in Cogsworth's direction.

Except, he would have nothing to give to the dog after he trotted back up the steps.

Cogsworth looked around. Of course the landing as the rest of the staircase and the whole castle floor for that matter was completely free of anything but the smallest speck of dust, and even that was rare.

Well, no matter.

"Good dog! Good dog!" Cogsworth kept saying, chuckling the while. "Most excellent dog!"

All he really wanted was the dog to return. He had spent nearly three days on that landing, and the loneliness and the feeling of being such a captive there he could not abide any longer. Even the company of the dog seemed better than what he had been doing previously.

However Biscuit did not see it in quite the same light. Upon discovering the tragedy of Cogsworth having nothing to throw, the dog first sniffed around to see if he could fix this dilemma for the most excellent of games that this usually anything but playful sort of person desired so much to play now. Alas, he found nothing and thus resumed to his mission downstairs.

"No!" wailed Cogsworth, quite envious of the ease with which the dog walked up and down the stairs whereas he had trouble even getting to his feet. "Wait! Biscuit! Come back!"

At these mournful cries, Biscuit could not help but take some pity, and at the bottom step he sat down and looked back at Cogsworth with another far more sympathetic cock of his head. He barked then as indication that Cogsworth had better just come down stairs then if he was so upset. He had not smelled hurt or sick or anything. He was perfectly capable even he did not quite smell or look the way he was supposed to.

Naturally, Cogsworth did not understand, and continued to yell after the dog until he was quite out of sight down on the corridor.

"Stupid creature," he muttered to himself as he banged his hand against the rail.

He stood in silence a moment, staring out with longing where the dog had disappeared. Then he looked at the stairs, and a look of determination finally took hold of him.

"If the dog can do it, then so can I!" he declared.

He had barely stepped more than a few paces before in his new form, but at last he felt that he could not bear one minute more upon this horrid landing. He stepped with firm slow footsteps and peered down. Each step was about the same height as Cogsworth! Well, at least half his height anyway. Either way it did not look at all easy, and the length of the stairs from the landing to the floor seemed to go on forever. What not but a few days before would have taken him less than thirty seconds to fly down now might take him a half hour if only because he dared not climb down quickly.

But then the dog had always been small and could run up and down the stairs faster than anyone else could in the entire castle save maybe the cat who was smaller still.

With this thought in mind he encouraged himself enough to go into action, yet not daring to climb down face first, he turned around. With hands upon the landing floor he stuck his feet out behind, which he found to not be at all as hard as he thought it would be. After about four of five steps he felt rather pleased with himself, and in celebration he turned around to see how many steps he had left.

_Five minutes_, he thought. _At the most at this rate_.

Then he would be at the bottom.

He turned backward again, climbed down a few more steps at a little faster rate, but after about the fifth step from that first pause, he slipped and fell.

"Hngh?"

_Svip!_

"Yah!"

_Clank!_

"Ack!"

_Plunk!_

"Ooff!"

_Bonk!_

"Ow!"

_Dong! Dong!_

"Eeeeek!"

_Smack!_

He moaned miserably, face first on the floor.

Fifty-seven seconds exactly for one thing according to the clock and …

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock,_ echoed in his head again once the pendulum had readjusted from his fall.

Sore, angry, and thinking that he could not be more wretched than any other person in all the world, he did not care to get up again. And there he remained wondering if it was beyond hope to tell himself that this all could still be a dream and that he was lying in bed sick and delirious. It would be far better than lying on the floor as an inanimate object, except for the fact that he was not inanimate and that he could think and feel and see and touch almost as if he was alive, but objects can have no life. It was … it was ...

"A splendid lunacy," he told the floor.

Then he heard something else. A squeak of a wheel, and with it, the echo of a voice.

Lifting his head and pushing himself off the floor as far as his hands could push him up without being on his feet, he saw a cart coming toward him. The voices, there were two, could not be made out, but one of them did sound very much like emphatic voice of Lumiere however distorted it sounded in the empty, ominous castle. The other voice sounded soft and mild and could be the voice of any of the hundreds and thousands of other servants that could possibly be with him. Yet to Cogsworth's dismay, he saw no human figures. No one was pushing the cart, and he could see it quite clearly wreathed in the glow of candlelight near blinding after the dark misery of the staircase shadowed in grotesque, marble creatures.

Cogsworth remained in his position until the cart came to a stop by his side, and he turned his head up to the top of the cart where the light came from. He lifted one hand over his eyes and squinted into the dark shape of the cart trim silhouetted above.

"_Bon après-midi, monsieur_," said Lumiere in the manner of an enthusiastic coachman. "Your carriage awaits!"

"Lumiere …?" croaked Cogsworth with uncertainty. "Lumiere, is that you?"

The face that looked over the side was less comforting than that of the dog's except perhaps that there was an actual face to see, but the welcoming smile was what made it more discomfiting than it otherwise would have been.

"Cogsworth!" exclaimed Lumiere, "_Voila, c'est vous_! I should have known it was you! We were wondering what had happened to you."

"Have you seen anyone else, Monsieur Cogsworth?" asked the other voice; this one from the cart itself, and Cogsworth did now recognize his voice as one named Eloi Charrette. "Down this way, I mean."

Leaving the sight of Lumiere and the Cart, Cogsworth stared out in front of him with large swollen eyes at the now vacant corridor. After a moment or two Cogsworth then let his face sink very slowly again into the floor. Here he began to cry. Banging his fist upon the floor and wiping the tears from his eyes with his other hand, he sobbed, "It's not fair! It's just not fair! It's true after all, isn't it!? Why couldn't it have been a dream!? Why couldn't I have been delirious with some fever!? What have we done to deserve this?! It's not fair! It's all over!" He pounded the floor some more, and a pool of water formed around his face.

A sound of clattering metal sounded beside him, and suddenly Lumiere was helping Cogsworth to his feet. Cogsworth really had not the will to protest at the moment, and merely apathetically allowed himself to be set upright.

"There, there, Cogsworth," said Lumiere. "It's not the end of the world."

"Not the end of the—!"

Lumiere did not let him finish as he told the Cart to lower the makeshift pulley that they had created.

"What do you mean it's not the—!" Cogsworth tried again, but here Lumiere took hold of the thin rope and bouncing onto the spoons tied together for the platform, pulled Cogsworth with him. As soon as they were set, Eloi pulled them up, and they were on top before Cogsworth knew it in his flustered state.

"_Allons-y_!" said Lumiere almost cheerful in manner.

"Don't you _dare_ be optimistic about this, Lumiere!" snapped Cogsworth leaping off the platform and nearly falling off onto the floor again. "Ack!" Clearing away from the edge of the cart, he thrust what could stand for a finger out at Lumiere. "There's nothing to be optimistic about! This is a curse worse than _death_ itself! Look at us! Look at _you_! You're a candlestick!"

The most deep and avid frown Lumiere gave Cogsworth kept him from going on any further, and he at once regretted his behavior despite it all. With a heavy sigh he knew that Lumiere was just as upset about the situation as he was, but unlike Cogsworth he was done losing his head over it.

"I'm sorry," said Cogsworth, looking away, and the Cart started up.

Lumiere shrugged and smiled broadly as he caught Cogsworth from falling off again in the lurch forward. "Think nothing of it. We're all in the boat together in this."

"Everyone?" asked Cogsworth miserably.

"The whole castle," said Lumiere. "Though no one except for you has tried the grand staircases yet." He chuckled just a little. "Judging by your position on the floor your attempt didn't work too well."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Cogsworth demanded. "Besides. I was coming down. Not going up, and I _did_ get down." He paused. "What are you two doing anyway?"

"Since you've been gone, a lot of us have gathered in the kitchens," said Lumiere. "We've managed to help almost everyone out of the servants' quarters. Some couldn't open their doors, and the stairs are difficult as you yourself know. But some are still stuck down there. And some of us, like myself, have been helping those of us who have turned into carts because they can move the fastest, to find anyone else."

"Hmm," murmured Cogsworth. "It all sounds quite practical so far. At least as practical as this can possibly be."

"Some have it far worse off than you," said Lumiere.

"Humph!" was all Cogsworth could say to that.

"_Mais oui_, it is getting organized," Lumiere agreed then. "Mrs. Potts has that way about her that can get almost anyone motivated."

"Are all the children—?"

"Everyone."

"What about the people outside?" asked Cogsworth. "The groundskeepers — well, its winter … the stable hands then."

"Someone did manage to get in through the door before we closed it," said Eloi. "He came all the way from the outside of the stables."

"Such will power!" Lumiere exclaimed.

"Everyone," whispered Cogsworth sounding quite desolate.

"Everyone," said Lumiere.

Cogsworth shuddered. "What about the people in the village?"

"We don't know how far this curse has gone for sure," Lumiere admitted, "but Monsieur Pavé who came in from the stables says that he thought he heard someone ride down the road."

"Are you sure?" asked Cogsworth. "Perhaps the whole world has entered into this madness. It's like that story in which that princess turned into the oven in the middle of the wood only is it possible that anyone has _not_ turned into some sort of household item!?"

"Well, for one thing," said Lumiere, "everything on the grounds is free from snow and everything outside the wall is at least four feet deep with it."

"Of course! They shoveled it all!" snapped Cogsworth. "The grounds … keepers …" He clicked the roof of his mouth and paused. "Yes, naturally."

"And when could they have done that?" said Lumiere. "It was snowing so hard just before things happened."

Considering this a moment, Cogsworth sighed. "Fine the grounds are cursed too then. Satisfied?"

"The Master's not a household item," said M. Charrette shuddering a little so that the wheels of his otherwise wooden body clattered.

Oh, the Master. How could he have forgotten the Master?

"Yes …" said Cogsworth sadly. "The Master. Oh! … but the poor Master Adam … I don't know if I can say his fate is not worse than ours."

Down the party of three strode on in the direction of the library. Every room was checked down the corridor along the way. The Cart stopped at each. Lumiere and, after a few doors, Cogsworth too opened the doors, but the rooms were empty. The library too proved vacant, but it was of interest to note that the library had not been altogether changed as most of the rest of the house had. Later when things became clearer to the servants their main hypothesis for this was that the Master did not care much about the library, but then that did not explain the state of the ballroom which was almost untouched as well. The main hypothesis for the ballroom remaining intact was just to torture the Master.

At the time however, Lumiere, Charrette, and Cogsworth having found no other servant along this way returned to the kitchens.

"Have you seen him then?" asked Cogsworth on the way back suddenly.

"Who?" asked Lumiere.

"The Master? Who else? I didn't know he came down stairs, except once," Cogsworth said. "And he only came down long enough to … well, silence the mourners."

"He's come to have dinner," said Lumiere. "He still has to eat."

A squeamish feeling overtook Cogsworth a moment as he realized that he had not eaten in days and did not feel the least bit hungry, but clearing his throat he returned to the conversation at hand.

"But how did he come down if not by the stairs?" asked Cogsworth.

"We think by the window," said Lumiere. "He came in through the front door."

Cogsworth started. "The window!? So can the Master fly now too!?"

"He probably climbed, of course," said Lumiere.

"Of course!" snapped Cogsworth in return. "I still say you're being too optimistic about this."

"Would you prefer if I was more like you?"

"Perish the thought!"

"Right, we can't have two people nagging about something that can't be helped right now."

Eloi sighed.

"I am not nagging, I'm lamenting," said Cogsworth. "There's a difference."

"You're lamenting is blaming everyone else for your problem."

"_Pardon_?" muttered Eloi who did not like the direction this conversation was going.

But neither Lumiere nor Cogsworth seemed to hear him as their talk became a full blown argument.


	4. Chapter 4

JMJ

FOUR

"So much for being organized," Cogsworth grumbled. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

The clamor echoed around the trio long before they reached the kitchen doors. It sounded like a throng of people all trying to set a table at the same time and doing a most terrible job with all the clattering, the jingling, the clanks, bangs, and _tink_s alongside the hodgepodge of voices all talking at once about who knew what. It was some Mother Goose rhyme in the flesh, Cogsworth felt certain of it. Except when he and Lumiere opened the door it was a lot more hectic than one dish running off the spoon. A whole set of china and silver bounced (and crashed) about aside from what else bounced around in there. The sight of the Oven in the corner too was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine, especially considering that he probably could never move out of his corner without bringing the whole kitchen down with a mere lurch forward.

It was at last at this moment that Cogsworth resigned himself to the situation as much as it pained him, or at least if this was not the situation then he had gone completely raving mad and should be put into some house of the deranged forthwith!

Lumiere leapt down from Eloi Charrette the moment they came through the door, but Cogsworth remained for a moment with a soft moan and rubbed his temple.

"Ah, you're back, Lumiere!" exclaimed a Vase through the mass of objects. "Emile and I found a few more gardeners from in the indoor gardens."

"You should see who I dragged in," laughed Lumiere. "I found the master of domestic affairs himself."

"What did the Master say to you?" asked the Vase shivering.

"No, no, no, _domestic_ affairs. Cogsworth, of course," said Lumiere.

At the mention of his name Cogsworth who had been preparing himself in the pulley lift with the help of Eloi, looked up in alarm.

The Vase lowered his voice and grumbled, "Poor, Monsieur Cogsworth. One might have known he'd end up being a clock."

Lumiere did all he could to keep from smiling.

At this comment for which he seemed to have missed the "poor" part however, Cogsworth completely lost balance and fell once again face first into the floor. Yet this time, he was up again within seconds. In a passion, which can bring people to do wonders for he had not found his legs very stable up to that point, he ran up to Lumiere without a thought as to how he reached his side.

"I heard that!" he cried. "If any of you _dare_ make light of this one more time I shall—!"

"Cogsworth!" exclaimed Lumiere throwing an arm around Cogsworth's shoulders for him to cease. "No one's making light of what has happened here."

Cogsworth glowered. He could not help but feel that something in the tone of his companion's voice still sounded slightly mocking even if out of force of habit.

"It is a cruel curse that has been played upon us," Lumiere went on with theatrical flair. "But I don't think that it was anyone's design what we each have become individually but our own."

"You really think that?" asked the Vase with some annoyance.

But Cogsworth had already been more than a little annoyed. "I—!" He attempted in his fluster but was interrupted.

"Monsieur Lumiere!" cried a fair voice, which belonged no longer to a maid but a little bobbing feather duster.

"I shall be beside myself with grief," muttered Cogsworth as he felt at least gratified for Lumiere's sudden release of his person.

"You've returned!" the Feather Duster exclaimed with a smile.

"Of course I've returned, _ma petite chou_," said Lumiere. "It's not like I left the castle."

"Oh, but I was concerned, _cher_ Jacque," Babette replied, much more composed and seemed now to be teasing, "that you may have fallen off somewhere and that we would have had to go and get you. You've been gone for such a long while."

Then she noticed Cogsworth and she did not have to be reintroduced to know who he was. She smiled briefly, politely, in a manner in which she seemed to be a little embarrassed that the first butler was standing right between herself and Lumiere, but she said nothing to him.

"At least you were successful in finding our good butler," she said to Lumiere passing Cogsworth and filling in the gap between herself and her lover.

Cogsworth sighed and rolled his eyes.

Babette said this sadly — not in reference to what she was saying, but her gaze locked strongly onto Lumiere with a look of utmost regret for what had become to his human form.

_Good_, thought Cogsworth sourly. _Someone else is sane around here._

But he did not mean it. Elizabeth and Lumiere had had plans for marriage, after all, and now such a thing did not look likely to happen any time in the near future. For anyone.

Lumiere did not allow her to dwell on this long, however, for he knew more than Cogsworth what deep sorrow she felt. With a smile he at once changed the subject onto more mundane matters such as the question of what was happening in the kitchen now.

"Yes," huffed Cogsworth. "What _is_ happening around here?"

Babette cleared her throat. "Well, we have just gotten everyone from down in the quarters into the kitchen, I think."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Lumiere.

"Yes, yes, splendid, but now what?" demanded Cogsworth.

"There're still the people upstairs," pointed out Lumiere.

"They may be serving the Master," said the Vase.

"And so what if they are?" said Cogsworth. "That doesn't change my question."

He glanced around the kitchen and saw that there was some work going on. A meal being made on the stove and salt shaker, pepper shaker, spice bottles, and spoons, bowls, grinders, and graters and other kitchen supplies all attempting to perform this simple task of making a soup with a side of bread. The Oven, Chef Honoré was all the while trying to keep things in order in keeping with his duty, and he was quite demanding and angry.

The Master, as Lumiere had said, still needed to eat, and the fact that he was eating was in itself a good thing. At least he had not taken to locking himself away entirely and starving himself to death from the misery of it all as Cogsworth felt certain he may have done had he needed to eat, not that he could think about the true concept of starving himself as he had never once been close to starving when he had to eat. And now that not the slightest craving for food entered into his mind or body he could not have made a good judgment about the concept at all.

Little tea cups on another side of the kitchens tried to climb up onto the footrest that happened to be the dog. The voices of children came from these tiny cups and discussed, as children may, about the concepts of riding the dog to get up the stairs to help the others down. Not long could he bear to witness that scene, and he shut his eyes with a slight shudder, especially as he recognized some of those little voices as belonging to the Potts children. And speaking of Potts, when he opened his eyes again he saw Mrs. Potts, a tea pot (oh, how cruel this joke on them!), not too far away telling the tea cups that they had better not stray from the kitchens as one child fell off the dog at that very moment. At the same time she tried to comfort one of her younger children who kept crying about her not having any hands. And it was a fact that she was not the only person still sobbing to themselves about their own ordeal.

Returning sharply to Lumiere, he reiterated again, "What are we to do now?" It was far easier to be angry than horrified or sad. "Now that this has happened and there's no denying this fact we can't just go on like this! Something has to happen."

"And you're the one to decide," said Lumiere. "After all, _you're_ the one in charge."

Despite the fact that he knew Lumiere was somewhat teasing still, the truth in his statement could not be lost upon Cogsworth, and he could not help but feel a sense of pride. With one last glance at the chef, Cogsworth could only agree that the only one thing to do would be continue one. They still all had to serve the Master. Cogsworth was still head of the household. He had a duty to uphold.

Swiveling around with a single deep nod, Cogsworth made for the Cart. He almost tripped over himself again when his turn ended, but otherwise he held the same proud posture he had as a human.

"Eloi," he said with a voice of authority — the first true voice of authority he had used since the curse began. "Lower the platform!"

Eloi obeyed.

Lumiere smiled and crossed his arms.

The Vase only looked after him with interest.

As the platform came to rest on the floor and Cogsworth stepped onto the jingly spoons tied together with some shoe strings, he stopped suddenly for the sight of those spoons, which were normal spoons and no one enchanted. They brought to mind how very humiliating the whole business was. Of course, everyone else was in the same boat, as Lumiere yet again had said. He shook off such feelings and told himself that not one other person in the whole castle was anything that resembled human form as far as he could see. Therefore sucking up his pride for what he felt to be the good of the castle he ordered Eloi to lift him up.

First he cleared his throat, but that got no one's attention. Thus slipping out of the spoons, which he could lift with surprising ease despite how large it was in comparison to him, he tapped it against a nearby glass on the counter next to Eloi.

"Attention, everyone! May I have everyone's attention, please! _S'il vous plaît_!"

He jumped as the last _swack_ of the spoon missed the glass, and this was not because he swung badly but because the Glass in irritation had bounced away.

"Oh!" he gasped, and said softly, "Terribly sorry." Then returning to the rest of the kitchen, for indeed he had retrieved most everyone's attention, and most everyone looked at him with the sort of expression that asked, what in the world could he possibly have to say?

"Thank you!" he said. "Now! First of all, despite the fact that it's all very crowded in here, everyone can't possibly be in the kitchens. Where's everyone else?"

"In the dining room or out looking for anyone we've missed," said someone from one of the shelves above.

"Or outside still on the grounds," said someone else near a closet door.

"Very good then," said Cogsworth stamping the spoon on the top of the Cart as though he held a mighty staff. He checked it briefly as though to make absolutely certain that the spoon was a real spoon and not some other person. Satisfied, he cleared his throat again and continued. "I would like to thank everyone for the organization thus far, especially Mrs. Potts who I'm told was quite involved with making that possible in my absence. But now that I'm here, and it is understood that the Master is still in need of our services then that cannot be neglected.

"There will be no more crying. No more tears. And you, Lumiere, don't give me that look again or I shall think of some nasty duty for you to do since your old job will not be required of you any longer. I absolutely shudder at the thought of guests. We shall all continue our duties just as before. Everyone. In fact, even you, Lumiere, to make certain no one comes _in_to the castle. Bring guards if you must. And I mean it so deadly serious this time that you are not to let anyone in, which brings us to the second object I have just decided!

"We must close the castle. Those good on their feet, or whatever they possess at the moment, will have letters posted, and the gates closed. Say that the Master is no longer living at the Castle which in a way is absolutely true, so no one dare tell me otherwise. The people on the outside can think what they will. Send also a formal apology to the count, Comte St. Gervais, and all the guests that were here but a few evenings past. We shall also plan a meeting this evening in which everyone will partake in deciding what has happened. We'll say nine o'clock sharp. That gives everyone a chance to clean up after the Master has had his supper. Otherwise as I've said everyone do as before as best as you are able. Dust still accumulates. Plants still need tending. Children still need to be taught. And we are still ever at the Master's call. This is indeed a time of tragedy, a loss that cannot be explained. But we shan't give into despair! We—"

"Excuse me, Cogsworth."

Cogsworth rolled his eyes. "What is it, Lumiere?"

Lumiere shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Nothing."

"Good!"

Emotion still rose inside of Cogsworth as he looked around at everyone. He tried not to look down at himself, though his mind felt the temptation as the sound of the ticking at the pulse of the pendulum. At last only closing his eyes stopped him from staring down at that constantly moving object behind the glass door; the ticking was becoming a nuisance. Beside he did not care to look at anyone else anymore either.

There was thus a moment of silence upon the kitchen, but Cogsworth for now had nothing else to say. He had hoped to regain composure by this, for some semblance of normalcy in performing his duties in this matter, but it had not helped.

"Thank you," he said straightening. "That is all for now."

"But what if we can't perform our usual tasks?" someone asked.

"Then help someone else," muttered Cogsworth as he threw the extra spoon over the side of the counter.

The kitchen resumed its movements again, and Cogsworth climbed down the counter onto the Cart and Eloi lowered him to the ground.

Standing in solemn silence for a continued moment or two, Cogsworth sighed, and leered at Lumiere who opened his mouth to speak.

"You know, Cogsworth," he said with a humorless chuckle, "there really is something you should—"

"Not another word!" retorted Cogsworth holding up a hand in front of him. "I'm not in the mood."

"Fine then," said Lumiere, crossing his arms, and he watched him leave with disgust.

Cogsworth made his way out of the kitchen with little more thought about Lumiere. He leapt to one side as he passed through the door and some new cart rolled past. He nearly lost his balance again but at the doorway he caught his fall. Then he moved on again as well as he could through the dining room. Mostly here, the servants stood around talking amongst themselves in a rather gloomy manner, but a few murmured "_bonjour_" to him as he past. Cogsworth barely nodded as a response.

He went out into the corridor, and paused for a moment or two.

Tears began to well up as he stared out into the vast dark hall beyond, and he held the tears back wondering how he possibly could be crying, or how he could possibly move at all, for that matter. He was made of wood, metal and glass, nothing bendable. With a shake of his head and a firm resolution not to cry if only to keep his mind from asking such impossible questions, he moved on but not far.

"I know you'd rather be alone …"

Cogsworth jumped and turned around, annoyed to see Lumiere.

"… but I still think you should know that it is not exactly a mystery what's happened."

"What on earth do you mean?" demanded Cogsworth with a sneer. "Or what in madness?"

"I saw what happened," said Lumiere with a shrug. "There's no need to discuss it later. We already talked about it."

"You _saw_ what happened?" Cogsworth paused. "_Why didn't you tell—_?!" Controlling himself, he became calm as best as he could and putting one hand into the other he asked, "Well, Lumiere. What _did_ happen? Aside from the obvious."

"An enchantress cursed the Master and the whole castle with it," said Lumiere moving to the other's side.

"Yes. Yes. I said not the obvious, and it's not that I especially care about the gender of the one who placed this spell upon us."

"I was getting to that."

"Then please do."

"She came to the door disguised as an old woman cold and miserable with no place to stay," said Lumiere. "I went to the Master and explained the situation to him. The Master went to the door and I followed. The Master was repulsed by her. I don't think all the money in the world would have convinced him to let her stay, but all she offered was a rose."

Cogsworth glowered. "You must be joking."

"Not a word," said Lumiere. "She offered a rose in return for shelter."

"But where would she get one if — well, she is an enchantress, but — well, don't stop! Go on!"

"He refused it. What else?" said Lumiere with a huff. "You said not to say the obvious."

A sigh was the only response to this before Cogsworth motioned with his hand for the tale to carry on.

"She told him not to judge by appearances, and she turned into a beautiful woman. The Master besought her, but she took no pity, because he took no pity on her, and because he judged her by her poor and miserable appearance she—"

"Oh, the poor Master!" cried Cogsworth. "Poor us! Alas! It was the harshest punishment. It was …" he voice trailed away. "He has doomed us all." And he covered his face with his hands in near despair. "Wasn't being publically humiliated bad enough? And now this! What a wretched state of affairs! Can anyone be more wretched in all the world?"

"Oh, but there is hope," said Lumiere.

Cogsworth shook his head. "How can there possibly be hope?"

"Because we do have time to reverse—"

"Wait!" snapped Cogsworth as the gears in his head put all the pieces together, and he leered dangerously at Lumiere. With eyes narrowed upon his companion fire burned in his eyes and it was not the reflection of the candle flames. "_You_."

"What about me?" Lumiere demanded.

"You let her in!" said Cogsworth.

"I did not let her in," retorted Lumiere. "I did my job and told the Master there was someone at the door."

"But you went to him in the first place! There must have been something suspicious about her if she really wasn't an old woman."

"You're blaming _me_ for all this?"

"Yes!" snapped Cogsworth. "I am as a matter of fact. You and your letting the whole world into the castle when you're not supposed to! Tatiana of the Fay, the witches of Macbeth, Varney the Vampire, and who knows who else?! Do you have any common sense at all? No discretion? I'm surprised I did not have the sense to fire you for this sort of thing long ago!"

"She was a little, old woman half-crippled with cold, what was I supposed to do?"

"Have some reserve," snorted Cogsworth.

"I can't help it if you don't have any sense of charity or empathy," Lumiere said.

"Charity!?_Charity_!?"

"You never did have a soul!"

"Take that back this instant, you varlet!"

Lumiere did nothing of the kind.

"And now it shows how cold and empty you really are inside," he said instead, and here he tapped the glass of the little door on Cogsworth's chest.

His current physical appearance being brought to attention caused a burning redness in Cogsworth's face, and he glanced down at the solitary pendulum for only a second. Full rage took hold as he returned his eyes to his companion, and with teeth grinding all decorum of office completely fell away to what he felt to be the true state of affairs. Letting out a mad cry he jumped at Lumiere.

At first Lumiere was quite surprised as can be expected, and he did not recover from this complete breakdown of the butler until he was quite on top of Lumiere and had him clattering into the floor under him. This did not last long though, for Lumiere fought back then with equal force.

Pain was not as noticeable in these forms, and it seemed that to break each other was far more difficult than one would think. The way they fought would have had them both in pieces had it been otherwise. They were in a complete brawl that would have thrown up dust if the floor had not been cleaned to the quality of a mirror's reflection. Every bang and every bong and clang they made echoed everywhere like a monkey having a tantrum in a warehouse.

Naturally this activity did not go unnoticed. Not that either combatant cared by this point. With teeth clenched and limbs flying the rest of the world was all but forgotten. Some of the servants tried to get their attention, but it did no good. Most just thought it best to leave them be, and thus they were let be for a time, fighting longer than they probably would have been able to had they still been human.

At last a voice loud and clear shouted, "Stop this at once!" so sharply and with such disgust that both stopped in an instant.

Although they were not too terribly hurt by the ordeal nor damaged save for a few flakes and drips of wax and a couple loose gears clattering onto the floor, they looked altogether exhausted and scuffed as they stared wide-eyed at Mrs. Potts.

"You should both be ashamed of yourselves," she scolded, not much differently than how she would have scolded her own children.

Cogsworth slipped his crown, what was left of his wig, off the floor and placed it back upon his head with an attempt to regain decency. Lumiere watched this out of the corner of his eye, but neither said anything for the moment.

"This isn't going to help anything you fighting like a pair of wild goats," she added. "We may have been cursed outwardly, but that doesn't give you the excuse to stop acting like men."

"How … uh, astute of you, Mrs. Potts," said Cogsworth wearily.

Lumiere eyed him strangely, but Cogsworth brushed him aside. Without another word the good head of the household went his way down the corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

JMJ

FIVE

Supper that evening had been the most disastrous meal Cogsworth had ever had the misfortune to supervise. The Master came down as if a true beast from the depths of the wood had come down to devour the very table he sat at and the servants with it. Sauntering in on all fours and swiping at a young maid turned feather duster (there were a lot of those) with feathers flying about, it was as if a lion had just missed the tail end of a bird.

The Duster let out a cry, and a couple other dusters hurriedly pulled her back to comfort her.

Then the Master paying not the slightest attention to anyone else, crawled into his usual chair almost knocking it over as he did. Steadying it with hands upon the table, he leered down at the empty place before him and shifted that leer with a far more deadly glint toward the kitchen.

"Where is it!?" he growled.

The preparations were in just as bad of a condition in the kitchens as in the dining room however as Cogsworth looked inside; though one did not have to see to know how things came alone. He cringed at the sound of a crashing plate, and with a double-take was at least pleased to see that it had not been a person, but one of the ordinary plates. None of the enchanted plates wanted to be eaten off of as of yet, but few people had much for hands at all much less the capability of using them properly. The chef could be heard booming loudly in anger about food being spilt, and Cogsworth reluctantly returned to face the Master.

"It's … coming, Master. Shortly," said Cogsworth twiddling his hands around each other. "The tray is being set."

He glanced back into the kitchen again.

"It is set as of now. Finally." He turned once more and grinned nervously. Then noticing the manservant turned coat rack, one of the few that had anything that resembled human form and quite tall and nimble despite the change. Motioning to him, he whispered fearfully, "Quick, Alphonse. Help them."

Alphonse bowed in his usual silent way, and did as bidden.

Within the next few moments of no further mishaps, one of the carts came rolling out followed by Alphonse, who after having come downstairs from the Master's bedchambers was a blessing to have. He placed all the dishes onto the table from the cart and with a neat and tidy hand, which at least satisfied the Master if it did not please him. No spills upon the table or, Cogsworth shuddered, the Master himself.

"Now, go away!" growled the Master.

Alphonse bowed low and withdrew, happy to get away.

The Master ate for a moment or two, and no one tried to watch his display of bad manners. He did not try to hold back anymore. Completely had he given in after a few days to his enchantment. If anyone had come into the dining room from the outside world they would have thought that the Beast had never been a man, and no woman would have felt anything for him but loathing and fear, and as much as the servants understood his anger, that it was justifiable, that it could hardly be helped, his pride had been broken so much, but to give in to it so intensely sickened them more than the sight of him would be to anyone else.

The person nearest him was Lumiere who, aside from the fireplace was the only source of light in the area. The Master preferred the house dark. Bright light was forbidden in his presence by strict orders. With this fact in mind, the Master noticing Lumiere more than anyone else would not have changed whether he stood close by or not; though as he stood on a nearby stand against the wall that just made it all the worse.

"What?" the Master demanded, throwing his head toward him.

"Nothing," said Lumiere, a nervous grin appearing on his face at being so pointed out.

"You have to watch me eat?!" the Master growled. "Can't I eat in peace!?"

"Of course, Master," said Lumiere. "I wasn't watching. I was standing on hand in case you needed anything."

"I don't need you _staring_ at me!?" he snarled.

Lumiere looked away and cleared his throat.

"Please, sir, we're only trying to be at your service," wavered Mrs. Potts with an uneasy hesitance.

Approaching timidly Cogsworth agreed. "Yes. We are still your loyal servants ever at you call." He smiled folding his hands together with hope.

"Your every wish is our command," added Lumiere.

"Then I wish for all of you to leave me _ALONE_!"

The dining room instantly emptied at that final word which came out like the roar of a raging bear. The fire in the fireplace crackled and the Master like that same bear in complete solitude as he wished it.

#

The Master had not come down to supper, but no one dared to go and see if he what held him. Most of the servants did not feel comfortable using the stairs as of yet anyway, though Chip and some of his siblings still liked very much the idea of riding the dog up, not that they wished to use this method to speak to the Master, and as they were children after all, none of the adults recommended it either.

It also happened that the meeting that Cogsworth had called for never happened as Cogsworth himself seemed to his disappeared for some days after he had overseen that one meal. Someone said that they saw him rough it out down the steps to the servants' quarters, but all agreed to let him be as well.

"What do we do with the food then, _Maman_?" asked Chip.

"They can't give it to anyone else," said one of his siblings. "Not even the pigs can eat it. The groundskeepers say so."

Some of the others such as the chef and a few pots, pans, and platters discussed this very situation, and it became quite loud from time to time.

The Potts children all huddled round their mother on one of the far shelves in a shadowed corner. But they still had been overheard, for one of the plates said before Mrs. Potts could answer her children, "Yes, the pigs! That brings up another matter altogether. We'll run out of meat before long too. Someone will have to order new animals."

Mrs. Potts sighed.

"What if they turn into something before they can be cooked?" asked a Pepper Shaker.

"Oh, don't say such things!" gasped the Salt Shaker.

"No, no, no. Maybe that would be a good thing," said a Sauce Pan.

"What are you talking about?" growled Chef Honoré.

"If it is only the Castle that is cursed, perhaps if we leave we shall be turned back to normal!" said the Sauce Pan.

"I very much doubt that," said a serving Fork.

The Pepper Shaker heartily agreed. "That would be too easy."

"It's hard enough," muttered the Sauce Pan.

"Monsieur Seau went out with some of the others to close and lock the gate already," the Pepper Shaker retorted.

"He was only trying to be helpful," said the Salt Shaker quietly.

Chef Honoré glowered. "False hope isn't helpful!"

"But what about the supper?" asked a Tray.

"Well, besides the fact that supper is not at all up to standard!" boomed Chef Honoré, which was the truth for the chef and his fellow cooks tried very hard to use truly inanimate objects to do most of the cooking, but it was becoming more and more apparent that this was near impossible in most cases even though it was quite understandable why no one as of yet wanted to use themselves. The exception was the chef himself who had to use himself from the beginning as the real oven could not be found. He had, alas, perhaps become one with the oven, which had stood there originally.

"Well, the Master may come later yet," said the Salt Shaker.

"Everything's already cold or near being over-cooked," said Chef Honoré, "and I know the Master's delicate, majestic palate. If anything else he knows what good food is. The taste of what atrocities we have been making since this disaster started, it's small wonder why the Master hasn't eaten much!"

"I'm sure it has little to do with the cooking," said Mrs. Potts softly.

A couple of her eldest children nodded; though one could no longer tell who the eldest was, for all looked now near exactly the same.

"It doesn't help!" declared Honoré.

"Perhaps someone should take his dinner up to him," offered the Salt Shaker.

The only thing most everyone could see as a result of such an idea, including the Salt Shaker herself was a pile of gravy, would be pork and vegetable stew spilling all over the staircase and a tumbling and crashing of whomever attempted this feat. Nevertheless Eloi who had been resting in a corner of the kitchen drove up now and offered, "I'll try it … if someone comes with me."

"I shall go with you," said Mrs. Potts resolutely.

No one argued over the matter, and it did not take long before everything had been set on the Cart with Mrs. Potts not far behind.

The children seemed to be getting the hang of their new bodies much faster than most adults were. The youngest Potts child took a few springing bounds after his mother and ahead of her onto the cart using a stool as a step to the top of Eloi.

"Are you sure you can manage the stairs?" asked Mrs. Potts before they set off.

"I think I can crawl up, if I can manage to keep my wheels sidewise to keep from rolling backwards," said the Cart.

"I still say no one's been beyond the walls," muttered the Sauce Pan after Eloi had left. "Someone should try."

"The one-man carriage has," said the Pepper Shaker. "He took a few with him to send the letters that Monsieur Cogsworth wanted sent. They didn't turn back to normal."

"And as Monsieur L'Épice said," said the serving Fork pointing a sharp end toward the Pepper Shaker. "It would be too easy. If what Monsieur Lumiere said is true than how could that vile creature give us such a loop hole."

"The Master ever falling in love is bad enough for our case," the Salt Shaker sighed. "But for someone to love him, especially now …"

"Perhaps the enchantress was really a fairy, and her tricks or only tricks as cruel as they are, and it's easier to reverse the curse than it looks," said the Sauce Pan not giving up just yet.

"It's hopeless!" groaned Chef Honoré, and his groan caused the fire from the oven to steam through the burners.

Closest to the Oven, the Salt and Pepper Shakers leapt away and nearly knocked over a Bottle who had been trying to stay out of the conversation.

"What did Lumiere say?"

Everyone stopped and looked up, or rather down, for this weary sigh of a voice had come from Cogsworth.

"Monsieur Cogsworth!" said the Salt Shaker. "We thought you were downstairs."

"And what reason would I have for going downstairs?" asked Cogsworth rather sad more than cross. "It's not as if I'd have much use for climbing into bed once I'd' have managed it. Come, come, answer my question." His face was still creased with a mental exhaustion. Wherever he had been previous to this, he must have been thinking deeply about their situation. He spoke now quite calmly without a tense backdrop to his conversation even if a melancholy tone did haunt his voice in its place. "What did Lumiere say about the curse?"

A small interval of silence ensued. Then after a moment or two the Bottle cleared his voice, "He said there was one way to end the curse."

"Did she say it herself?" asked Cogsworth and shook his head. "Never mind. What is it?"

"That the curse would only be lifted if some young lady were to fall in love with the Master," Chef Honoré said in a strait forward manner.

"And the Master with her, of course," added the Pepper Shaker.

Cogsworth frowned, or at least his already grim face became grimmer, and another silence fell upon the company. It lasted shorter than the first had but felt far more oppressive. Closing his eyes with a most heavy and mournful sigh Cogsworth said, "So much for making affairs any better," he moaned.

"But at least there's some hope," offered the Salt Shaker.

"It's just another mockery upon us," muttered Cogsworth. "To add to the million already present in this wretched castle." He held up his hand. "I have no strength left to express my grief about this whole business."

"Then please don't strain yourself!" grumbled Chef Honoré. "Or go back into whatever gloomy hole you've crawled out of. We all know the circumstances! We don't need you to tell us how hopeless it is for any woman in her right mind to even stand in the same room with any one of us now, much less fall in love with the Master!"

"She did not actually say that the woman had to be sane, did she?" asked the Sauce Pan innocently.

"Why would the Master fall in love with a madwoman?" asked the Salt Shaker.

"Does _he_ have to fall in love with _her_?" asked the Plate which had spoken earlier. "I don't remember whether that was part of it or not. Just that there was a time limit. He has to relive his whole life of twenty and the last petal falls on his twenty-first year of becoming the beast at his birthday. Wasn't it so? And—"

"Of course it is that the Master must love the girl back!" snapped Cogsworth. "Just to make it all the more ironic! He never loved anyone as a human, why should he love anyone as a beast?! Having such a remedy for the curse is just another way to torment us! It would be better if there were no solution at all, which for our own sanity we should treat as such anyway! In fact, I command it!"

"Lumiere seems to think it could happen," said the Salt Shaker.

"Yes, well, Lumiere would think pigs could fly if there was an optimistic motive for it," sniffed Cogsworth who had not completely forgotten the events that led to his fight with Lumiere. "In the best interest of the Master it should _not_ be spoken of ever again if I ever have a word to command about anything ever again! No one could fall in love with the Master. He was hardly a lovable sort of person to begin with. Even then if someone had decided to marry the Master it would have been no doubt for his power and wealth and perhaps his handsome looks, and I'm sure just to make it all the harder the curse means true love: deep, heart-wrenching, and passionate love like in the play and the romantic novel such as our dear Monsieur DuPont's finest!" Here he rolled his hand around to bring further emphasis to this sarcastic bit. "And even if he was a lovable person and one could see past his wretched present form, who would come here? We've just all but condemned the castle. It's not as if we can go and kidnap Monique and hope she forgives us and decides that the Master is not so bad a character after all and the Master likewise. Or how about the princess of Prussia for that matter. And didn't someone say something about a time limit? A million years won't change a thing, and we'll all be just as we are now! Then what's the point?!"

No one gave him a reason for the point, but it was about this point in Cogsworth's ranting that he noticed that no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to him any longer, and were instead engaging themselves in further conversation without him.

"Fine, don't listen to me," muttered Cogsworth. "In fact why we pretend there is anything left of hierarchy in the ranks of servitude anyway in this place is beyond me."

"Because you ordered it so the other day, Monsieur Cogsworth," said the Salt Shaker and she smiled.

Cogsworth sighed. He envied anyone who could bring a smile upon his or her face, but he shook his head leaving the kitchen again without any real destination in mind.

"Well, we can safely say that the captain's jumped ship," said the Pepper Shaker.

"But where will we find hope?" asked the Tray. "Any of us, after a while."

Here one of the older Potts children spoke out with a boy's voice of about fifteen years, "We can't give up hope till the ship is surely down!"

The Salt Shaker smiled. "_Mon cher_."

#

"Master?"

Mrs. Potts knocked on the door with the side of her body.

"What if he opens to door really fast?" whispered Chip, leaning close into his mother's side.

Stiffening, Eloi moved away a bit, but nothing happened.

"Go back a little, Eloi," whispered Mrs. Potts. "Let me knock again."

Eloi did with care, and Mrs. Potts after her second round of knocking just as lightly as before, called out cheerily as she could, "Master, we've brought supper for you. It'll get cold, sir."

Still no answer. Shuffling sounds came from inside. At least the Master had not gone out again.

"You have to keep up your strength, Master," said Mrs. Potts. "At least have a cup of tea."

"What's the point?" the voice of the Master returned at last almost inaudible through the door.

For the first time since the curse had happened, he spoke without yelling. That at least would have been encouraging regardless of what he actually said in that quieter tone.

"Oh, Master," said Mrs. Potts. "You must try to keep going."

"Why?" asked the Master like a lost and lonely child, Mrs. Potts thought, and her heart went out to him. "My life is over anyway."

"Where there's a will there's always a way, Master Adam," Mrs. Potts said, her voice strengthening now as she tried to soothe the poor overgrown child through the door. "Where's there's life there's always hope. Those saying aren't made up just for nothing, Master. They live on for a reason."

Chip looked up at the door inquisitively as he listened for an answer, and biting his lip Eloi glanced up at Mrs. Potts hoping she was helping.

"Don't call me that," grumbled the Master.

"Excuse me, Master?" asked Mrs. Potts.

"Adam,' said the Master. "I'm not even human anymore. Don't ever call me Adam again."

Mrs. Potts let out a sad sigh.

"Please, Master, please eat," she said. "We're all so worried about you."

"Why should you be?" demanded the Master.

"Because you're our master," said Mrs. Potts. "Our physical bodies don't change that for any of us. The curse can be broken. Have faith, Master, do try. You still have a chance, but only if you try. Your mother and father would die a second time to know how miserable you are. "

"They would die just looking at me," muttered the Master.

Mrs. Potts frowned realizing she had made a mistake bringing Robert and Estelle into this. "That's beside the point."

"You can love, Master, we know you can!" cried Chip.

Normally the child would have been reprimanded for such an outburst, and even still Mrs. Potts gave him a disapproving glance, but everything had become so unorthodox of late, what could be said against the poor little child trying to help in this desperate situation.

"We'll leave it outside the door if you wish, Master," said Eloi.

"Fine," said the Master.

"Will you promise to eat it, sir?" asked Mrs. Potts.

There was a pause. "I'll eat it," the Master growled.

* * *

_NOTE: Like I said at the beginning I did change the rules a little bit from the movie, but they were so confusing in the movie I thought that it wouldn't matter if I used a little artistic license here for it. (shrug)_

_Hope everyone's liking the story so far ^-^_


	6. Chapter 6

JMJ

SIX

The stillness and clarity of the morning carried with it just the faintest sound of church bells. The Cathedral of St. Clothilde called out into the village and carried over the wood and to the castle, which once had been the source of her main attendance. Now it made the beast once named Adam think of only two things. One was that his parents were buried in its cemetery. Two, it reminded him of the only way out of his curse: for a girl to fall in love with him enough to have the cathedral play wedding bells. He could not now think of the latter. He knew such a thing was hopeless to wish for. He knew just as well as anyone that it would take a miracle for a girl to even give him a chance. Thus instead of praying for such a miracle, he continued to pity himself.

Gazing at the pink glow of the rose, its only barrier, a thin glass cover, the beast glowered until the bells chimed their last. Then lifting up the mirror at the rose's side he demanded to see the churchyard where there stood a small chapel in honor of _Notre Dame_. Near at hand were the tombs of his parents surrounded in brilliant colors of stained glass and statues of angels and patron saints. The chapel itself was lit by a sing candle as someone swept the front of the chapel's altar, but the tombs were dark and silent in the attached chamber, and this was where Adam's attention had been drawn, of course, not to the happy worker, a little monk, whistling a hymn up front. The normalcy of the worker made the beast all the more aware of his horrible predicament. He blocked him and stared at the darkened tombs of his parents.

The mirror narrowed in on them as it felt the direction of the eyes of the beast.

He did not remember his mother. She had died in childbirth. To be honest he had not given it too much thought since he was very small and first understood what that had meant, and it had been the only time he had ever cried about it. His father he barely remember either, and he did not remember ever crying about it. Perhaps he had, but it had been lost in the enigma of the mind. He had been told by many that his took after his father in his appearance; the paintings gave testimony to it. Adam's portrait in his bedchamber that now had been torn to shreds was almost an exact replica of another one of his father Robert in his parents' old, unused bedchambers just down the hall.

For a few seconds, the beast glanced at the shreds of portrait still hanging upon there before returning with a leer into the mirror.

Its ethereal gleam made the image of the tombs look like a dream, and he realized it had been years since he looked upon these tombs. Remorse of having neglected them for the first time touched his heart, but that only caused anger to resume. The image faded away, swallowed up as though in a boiling pot as he let out a roar, which although pitiable and powerful was at the same time the cry of self-pity and not actual remorse of heart for his neglect of his parents.

Yet while the effects of the roar still echoed in his bedchamber and out over the balcony, he heard the voice of Mrs. Potts from the night before.

_Your mother and father would die a second time to know how miserable you are._

A long silence then fill the chamber as this thought churned in the mind of the beast.

Could he allow himself to starve to death?

Throwing the door of his bed chamber open, he saw on the floor the tray and the glass of wine from the night before. He stared at the silver cover a moment upon which the shadow of his monstrous form loomed and reflected back an unrecognizable dark shape.

Snatching the tray off the ground with a low growl in the back of his throat, he closed the door behind him far gentler than how he had opened it.

Lifted the cover he wrinkled his nose at the now cold dry meal before him. Nevertheless at the sight of the food his stomach cared not what it looked like and hunger awoke. It did not take long to eat up every last crumb. He returned to the door. Put the tray back for the servants, and then taking the glass of wine he drank it down like a visitor to the bar might slug down a shot. Leaving the glass then beside the tray, he slammed the door such behind him.

#

January came and went. The Master had taken to his usual supper-only meals again.

Cogsworth always had to keep moving. Once he woke he was up and going until bed. Of course, he usually had no destination in mind; though, he did stop by in the kitchen and where the dusters and sweepers were, for at least in these places there were normal menial tasks being performed.

Normalcy, consistency, movement, propriety, and clockwork really — all these things had been so important to him before the curse, and still were despite the curse, which at least proved he had not gone into complete despondency. He would, as of old, give his own input on the matters of these tasks, but it would be some time before any of his old luster would return, and in fact would become stronger to the point of becoming rather eccentric. For now he remained uncharacteristically quiet, unless someone got him riled up about the true state of affairs again.

February trundled by, and March was in the works. The Master's appetite seemed to have been regained a little, for he began eating breakfasts sometimes.

Cogsworth had gathered a routine of sorts in making rounds of the castle. Having no physical requirements save that of resting his mind at nightfall he had nothing to do all day but make these rounds, and they became a most serious matter for him.

For you see in that time when he had appeared in the kitchen and had discovered that the curse could be broken in theory he had been doing previously nothing at all. He had been standing on the floor in some dark and dismal corner staring out across the hall to the window up into a white, blank sky. At first he had been merely feeling sorry for himself and he stood there in silence for quite some time. Not sleeping, not resting, just staring and not thinking about much of anything at all except that he hated the state of things. And a dreary sense of lethargy grew within him. Hatred mellowed to annoyance and annoyance to apathy until he found that he suddenly had lost himself entirely. When he awoke or came to himself days had gone by, and he was not quite certain what had happened. As he had pondered over it afterwards he came to the conclusion that he had for a brief period become entirely a clock and nothing else, which frightened him exceedingly. He had then an appreciation for the fact that he at least still had possession of his mind and free will if nothing else, but then the witch or whatever she was could not take that away. No one could take a person's free will, it has been said, unless someone gives it up willingly which Cogsworth had, he realized, almost done.

This resolve to keep himself busy and moving and thinking was furthered by the fact that in just a couple months' time, he did see from time to time a servant who had gone into such a lifeless state only to be picked up or moved out of the way by some other servant thinking such a person to be an ordinary object and becoming quite surprised when the person awoke at the motion. At least it was easy to wake someone from that lifeless state, but still! What if one was undisturbed for years in some forgotten corner?

Cogsworth shuddered.

Thus he kept to his rounds, and made use of his abilities to move and to talk without too much complaint in the months as mentioned, and nothing seemed to change.

Mid March drew every closer to April. The Master now managed one full breakfast and one full supper (both of which he supplied with ever-worsening table manners), and he roamed the castle and the grounds, stalking about like some dark phantom, a ghost upon a crumbling estate, a lion guarding his territory. Yet still most of all he stood upon his balcony staring in silence and so still and angry and miserable that he looked like the many grotesques posted all about.

#

Cogsworth glanced now out the window for a brief pause in his rounds, and a bit of a break from routine. He was still human after all and the steady beat of time had to be broken up eventually. His mind was not mechanical even if his head clicked and clanked with tiny gears and cogs. He managed to climb up onto a table and look out, for he had been attracted by the sound of someone outside, and he had to see what was happening.

The spring weather, which seemed to have been planted permanently within the castle grounds poured out upon a rather charming scene regardless of the oddity of the sight of two or three little tea cups trying to play in a bird bowl along with a few other children of the castle: a little ball, a pair of tiny baby's shoes, and one long snaking jump rope.

Cogsworth was getting used to the sight of the enchantment of the household, but it still looked stranger to see the servants outside than inside. He himself had to admit he had only gone out once since becoming a clock.

The children had reached the bowl with the help of the Jump Rope coiling around each in turn to the edge. Now the Rope just watched more than anything else as she coiled around the stem and the base like a snake. The shoes jumped with all their might creating a great splash. The Potts children scooped up water and threw it out, and the Ball bounced and splashed and fell out to the ground from time to time. Leaping back in again proved for him no problem however, for he out of all the children needed no help from the Rope to accomplish this, and all in all the children seemed to be enjoying themselves. Children, it seemed, could go on with life far better than many of the adults in trying situations. Laughing and giggling with the occasional childish shriek, they would have sounded quite normal had it not been for the sight of them.

A sad sort of smile formed on Cogsworth's face. He found himself charmed by their innocent joy despite it all even if he did think it a tad dangerous for the tea cups, and he had a mind to go out and tell them so. But not just yet. Besides, the grass below them grew thick, green, and soft.

_They should be alright_, he thought.

The Potts children had come back from tragedy before. The passing of Mr. Potts was still only three years ago, and this new curse at least had not separated their family any further. As some of the more optimistic members of the household had said, at least everyone was still together. No one had been broken; no one had died from the curse. They just had to keep sanity, and as it had also been said by _Monsieur Optimisme_ himself Jacque Lumiere, there was still a way to end the curse even if it never came about.

A thought came into Cogsworth's head then. He had once said that the household should work as though nothing had happened. If he took his own advice, he knew that by this time the castle servants would be in the middle of preparing for _Pâques_.

Now if normalcy was to continue in any sense of the word, it was his responsibility to keep it going. He was, after all, head of the household. The Master trusted him. The household respected him, more or less, even if he had already lost some of that respect for his behavior at the start of the curse, but perhaps he could make up for it now. Though, perhaps it would also be best to ask the Master first.

Turning back to the corridor, which seemed rather dark and ominous after the bright sunlight of the grounds, he twiddled his hands a bit, longing for the proper use of fingers to perform the correction wringing action.

Such a prospect as asking the Master could not end well. Although the Master had as of yet not hurt anyone badly, the image of himself being grabbed around the middle by a massive, clawed hand and thrown with the strength of an elephant down the staircase and crashing into the floor into a hundred splinters and chunks of coils and gears could not be blocked entirely from Cogsworth's mind. It surprised Cogsworth that the Master had not hurt anyone further than he had even if by accident, but then perhaps that proved that the Master had not changed inside anymore than the rest of the cursed ones. His rage came out more in words and commands than brutish physicality. Yet there was still no reason to provoke the physical beast side of the Master, after all.

_Oh, it might as well be forgotten_, Cogsworth told himself. _The Master would prefer, I'm sure, to brood. This incessant brooding will be the death of him, but who can argue with him now?_

"Ah, Cogsworth, there you are," came just the right voice right on cue as if Cogsworth's thoughts had been read.

"Is there a problem, Lumiere?" asked Cogsworth before looking down from the table.

"Why would there be a problem?" asked Lumiere with a shrug. "The only problem is monotony, and wait until you see how we're going to break it."

"Does it have anything to do with Easter?" Cogsworth asked with caution.

"How did you guess?" Lumiere said with a mischievous grin.

Slapping his face with his hand Cogsworth turned away.

"I can still hear my brother," he muttered, "'Basile, this is your last chance to come with me to London. I leave the day after next.' I hear it again and again and … oh … what is it?" He turned back to Lumiere and climbed down from the table.

#

Despite his complaints and his warnings about what the Master would say the turn of events made Cogsworth quite happy. Betraying his true feelings on the subject when he thought no one could see he did appear quite satisfied, and he smiled to himself as he strolled through the activities of the servants.

Gathering flower to be stringed about, the castle cleaned to a shine, the garden pruned, the food and drink planned — everything had to be on the grandest scale. Music had been planned and dances outside. They actually ordered a foreign animal for the roast that arrived at the castle a couple days beforehand to be butchered and roasted on Saturday for Sunday's dinner.

An Easter celebration was just what the castle needed to brighten everyone's spirits. A second chance at Christmas might as well have been granted to them, and indeed in secret some of the servants found or made what they could for gifts for each other. It would be the grandest Easter celebration the world had ever known, but the world would not know of it. The only thing lacking from the preparations was the massiveness of the feast and the guest list for those who would eat it. There was only just a little more than what the Master would need to have his fill on his hungriest days; though he seemed to know nothing about it so far.

The Potts girls each carried a flower in their cups, and giggled as they teasingly argued over which one had the best flower.

"Mine's the biggest," declared one with a smile.

"Oh, indeed it is," laughed the eldest daughter. "But I prefer the buttercups."

"Nothing with cups," said a third in mock offence. "Daffodils are far better."

"You can barely hold yours up, silly girl," said the eldest.

"But the lily is the flower of the occasion," said the first one again, throwing her lily up into the air where it landed on the floor. Running to scoop it up she turned to her fellow sisters and said, "The symbol of purity and new life."

"Which we all know we shall get eventually!" said the first.

"Oh, _oui, oui_! We will, Heloise," said the eldest. "Eventually."

"I have a flower too!" cried Chip who came bounding forward with an assortment of wild flowers, some spilling out as he bounced like a little rabbit.

"Oh, Chip, now look," said the first one, Heloise. "You're getting them everywhere."

"Let him," said the eldest. "It just makes the place look more cheery. It'll all be cleared away eventually anyway."

"I think the whole floor should be carpeted in flowers!" cried the third, the youngest before Chip.

The other sisters laughed, and Chip grinned.

"I can get more then, if you want?" he said amused by the idea himself, for swimming in flowers covering the whole floor of the dining room would be like the leaf pile of one's dreams.

"No, no," said the eldest. "Just bring your flowers to _Maman_, Chip."

"Okay!" said Chip bounding away again, most of his flowers had found their home on the floor behind him. He nearly lost the rest of them too as he dodged out of the way of Cogsworth who seemed to the child to have materialized suddenly in front of him.

Cogsworth had been ready for him however and allowed him past, and moved on to the kitchens. Out of habit he checked the time, which was, as stated as easy as blinking now. In his usual way he kept track of how much time everything would take, when everything needed to be done, and any compensation that needed to be made. Yet once in the kitchen he simply asked with hands behind his back how everything was going.

"Finally something other than simple stews and roasts," Honoré said with pride. "There are some things I'm doing for this dinner that I wish I would have done before when the elite of France would be eating it!"

"Ah, ah," said Cogsworth with a knowing smiling. "No talk of before, just enjoy the present."

"_Mais oui, mais oui_!" agreed Honoré, and his assistant cooks with him.

Then it was off to the gardens where Cogsworth saw how the groundskeepers were getting along. He had not seen the castle so happy since the curse began. He could not remember the last time he had felt this happy himself even before the curse. He strolled about almost leisurely and against his usual tense disposition, but he could feel in the back of his mind the ever present shadow of the Master looming over him.

He knew that not telling the Master of their plans was completely against all Cogsworth had ever stood for, but he could not help it. His heart longed for something happy, and if the happiness of the lifting of the curse could not come to them then at least he could make his own form of happiness. Could he not at least have that? One day of happiness? Could not the Master allow himself such happiness as well?

But for the most part, Cogsworth would not allow himself to dwell on such thoughts. The afternoon sunshine banished all dark thoughts and burned away all cobwebs of gloom. Everything looked so green and so fresh, the hedges were cut to perfection, and the walkway cleared of all debris. It was a paradise, as it should be, the grounds of one of the finest castles in all of Europe! He did not even mind it when he heard the voice of Lumiere singing out of century again to Babette as he passed them by under a small ornamental tree.

« … _Fou, fou, l'amour est fou._

_Fou comme toi est fou comme moi._

_Bleu, bleu, l'amour est bleu._

_L'amour est bleu quand je suis à toi … _»

Lumiere played the while upon a strange, little instrument of his own design that resembled to some extent a sort of lyre that, because of its size, had a very high pitched sound despite the fact he played it well enough to keep it from outright squeaking.

"You have work to do, I'm assuming," Cogsworth still could not help but say, but he allowed Lumiere to make excuse with little fuss before going on his way.

Real birds had found their way onto the grounds again. The sound of insects was just about as welcoming. The gentle breeze wafted through the trees, and crisp shadows danced upon the sharply cut lawn. He could not help but think along similar lines as the chef. Why had he not enjoyed such simple pleasures before the curse?

He saw to it meanwhile that the grotesques were covered up as best they could be in chains of flowers and colorful drapery, which made their shapes indistinguishable, much to his satisfaction. Not a hedge was misshapen, and the pavilions were decorated in streamers.

"All set for tomorrow," said Cogsworth to the head groundskeeper, and he laughed. "It really is too bad there won't be guests arriving. We've certainly outdone ourselves."

"Yes," agreed the groundskeeper. "But I suppose there is no harm in making it bright here if only for the castle's own residents, and of course, in honor of the day."

"Indeed!" said Cogsworth cheerily and after going on a little further he returned to the castle.

With the glow of the perfect spring still warm inside him, and literally still warm upon his metal parts, Cogsworth walked through the now blackish-looking corridors with a step quite light and quick.

Then he heard it.

All joy drained out into the cold floor beneath him at the sound of that horrible roar.

Part of Cogsworth wished only to stand where he stopped and not dare to venture forward, but he knew that he had to. It came from the dining room and the kitchens. As he approached he could hear the Master yelling; though his exact words corrupted in their travel to Cogsworth's hearing by way of the castle's massive echoes.

Biting his lip, Cogsworth pushed open the door to the dining room in time to see the table overturned and thrust against the fireplace.

* * *

_NOTE: The song lyrics are from Vicky Leandro's version of "L'amour est Bleu"_


	7. Chapter 7

JMJ

SEVEN

"We didn't know that we weren't supposed to, Master," pleaded the kitchen servants trembling before the beast.

"It's tradition," said one.

"It's important," said another.

"We've always done this, Master, please," begged yet another.

"I don't care!" the Master retorted. "I didn't order you to celebrate. There's no reason to celebrate anything ever again!"

"But, Master—" they said.

The Master banged his fist upon the wall causing a great boom and a shake. "Take it all down!"

"What about the dinner?" asked Chef Honoré.

The Master paused. "I don't care about the dinner!" he said. "Just take everything down. NOW!"

He turned around and noticed Cogsworth in the doorway. There was no reason why he should not have noticed him as he nearly tripped right over the top of the little clock, and Cogsworth let out such a yelp to be almost trodden so besides.

"Tell them!" the Master growled.

"Yes, Master, y—y—your honorableness, you're grace, my lord!" gasped Cogsworth, bowing with all humility and fear.

"And never again! Don't do anything without my permission ever AGAIN! Do you understand!? I like it all the way it IS!"

"Yes, Master," Cogsworth assured him nodding vigorously and adding another low bow. "I understand. I understand perfectly. Wholly and entirely! Never again, Master. Never again. I—I will see to it that no major under taking will occur in the castle without your knowledge or consent ever again."

"_GOOD!_" snarled the Master and bursting through the door he slammed it with the force of an avalanche behind him.

The kitchen servants and Cogsworth stood in bitter silence for a moment or two. Winter might as well have returned for how chilled everyone felt within their hearts as their small happiness had been wrenched away from them as it had.

Then clearing his throat Cogsworth turned to the other servants. Straightening a bit with one arm thrown behind his back he said with deep solemnity, "Well, I'm sure everyone heard the Master. Everything is to go back to its original state." And without a word of parting, Cogsworth withdrew to tell the rest of the household the unfortunate order from the Master.

#

_Bong … Bong … Bong … Bong …_

The faint echoes of the cathedral of Saint Clothilde brought little cheer to the castle of the once proud and powerful Prince Adam. As Easter morning dawned and the bells were at last released after their silence for the past few days the rest of the world was in celebration of new life, but the bells that rang so beautiful and joyous might as well have been the bell toll of a funeral for those who heard it from the castle.

At the small kitchen window Mrs. Potts looked out at the dawning of the sun over the wall, and never before had she felt such a prisoner during this curse. A heavy sigh escaped her and she closed her eyes.

Peeking out of the cupboard, which now served as the bedroom of the Potts children, Chip saw his mother in her distress, and bounding out onto the countertop he pressed into his mother's side.

"Are we never going to have any holidays ever again?" he asked.

"Oh, love," his mother said. "It's still a holiday without the decorations and the music."

"Who says we can't have a little music?" demanded Lumiere.

"The _Master_, Lumiere," hissed Cogsworth quite darkly and dangerously from where he had been sulking in a corner. "We are to be in a perpetual state of eternal mourning until the Master says otherwise. If we still wore clothes we could all be wearing black. In fact we could all just paint ourselves, come to think of it, and be done with it. Or why don't we all throw sheets over our heads as the pieces of furnishing we are in the abandoned house in which we dwell."

"If we were quiet we could celebrate a little," said Lumiere. "Come on, Cogsworth, I hear it in your voice. You don't like this anymore than the rest of us."

"Of course, I don't like it. What do you think I am? But the Master said—" Cogsworth rubbed his temple. "No …" He looked up again. "The Master has _decreed_ in the most explicit terms that we are to remain miserable every second of our lives!"

Chip looked up wide-eyed at his mother.

"Please, you two, don't start an argument," said Mrs. Potts sadly.

"I'm not trying to start one," said Cogsworth still glaring at Lumiere giving him a horrible face in return rather than turning to Mrs. Potts. "I was just fine until this, this, this … oh …" He looked away with a huff and muttered, "I knew it was a bad idea. Why do I let you talk me into these things?"

"I talk you into them?" Lumiere demanded.

Cogsworth sighed, and true to his word, he did not argue back … for now.

"The Master didn't _exactly_ say we couldn't have any music," said Babette suddenly from out of nowhere at Lumiere's side.

"That is true," said Lumiere now smiling warmly upon Babette.

A sigh burst out of Cogsworth and he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please, Jacque, please at least _you_ sing something," said Babette. "I'm so weary of it being so cheerless. Even if he did command such a thing as no music how could such a thing be obeyed? _S'il vous plaît_?"

"Ah, _là, là_! Isn't she right though, _mes amis_?" said Lumiere throwing his arm around the Duster. "Some commands don't need to be obeyed, and in fact shouldn't be obeyed."

"I think that's only if the order is a sin," muttered Cogsworth.

"And this is not a sin?" demanded Lumiere. "Being forced to not celebrate on such a beautiful spring morning as this? To force ourselves to be glum and grey day after day?"

"Oh, it sounds like a song already, Lumiere," sighed the silly Babette in a full passionate performance worthy of Shakespeare.

_The pair of them should have gone into theatre rather than become castle servants_, thought Cogsworth as he watched them wearily, but then both Babette and Lumiere had more or less inherited their positions. They had at least done that correctly.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Lumiere," said Cogsworth, "but I'm not going against the Master's orders for your entertainment either. No party. If you want to sing go on ahead, but there will be absolutely _no_ festivities of any sort. End of discussion. That's final. I promised the Master I would keep things in the spirit of the situation, and that's what I intend to do."

Lumiere rolled his eyes this time. "What a flustered, old pheasant you are," he grumbled.

Growing tired of the conversation himself, Chip leapt down from the windowsill and bounded back to the cupboard. He peeked inside and saw that most of his siblings were in the process of waking. At first he intended upon grabbing one of his brothers, but he decided to come back for that later when he was distracted by the bark of the dog.

"Biscuit!" he exclaimed. "Hey, boy. Get ready to catch me, alright?"

The dog barked, and trusting the dog would do as he always did when Chip or his brothers and sisters leapt off the counter, Chip took off without fear and landed perfectly upon Biscuit's back.

"Good boy!" said Chip. "C'mon, let's go see what's going on outside."

"Be careful!" called Mrs. Potts after him.

"Don't worry, _Maman_, I will!"

As the dog trotted out of the kitchen there was another group of servants sitting also quite gloomy in a corner in the dining room. Chip paid them no mind; though the dog cocked a look toward them curiously before reaching the corridor on the other side of the room.

The group of servants in the dining room was having quite a different discussion from the ones in the kitchen, and they spoke far softer and more mysterious in manner. Though, many servants did speak in hushed tones nowadays almost to simply fit the mood of the castle with nothing truly serious spoken about, in this particular case there was something up.

"And what is so fascinating about an invitation that isn't ours?" asked the Sauce Pan quietly.

"I will tell you, monsieur," said a softly spoken Pen nudging another companion, a Doorstop who looked around in a suspicious manner as if afraid of being overheard. "The House of Count Vespasien is very near here."

"So?" asked the Sauce Pan.

"It's only on the other side of the wood," said the Doorstop, whose voice was like that of a toad's and he kept constantly looking upwards in a rather uncomfortable looking manner as he had no neck with which to perform this task well, and he was the smallest of the company present in the shadow just beneath the window.

"Yes, yes, I know that, but what does that matter?" asked the Sauce Pan with a laugh.

"Shhhh," said an Inkwell, the assistant of the Pen, in a very quiet, raspy voice. "The Master was rarely invited to the Count Vespasien's house and the Master rarely invited him in return. They weren't on good speaking terms."

"No, never!" agreed a Broom and behind her, two Dusters and a Mousetrap shook their heads.

"Shhhh," said the Inkwell again.

"Don't shush me, Monsieur Goutte," said the Broom.

"But many others will attend," said the Pen, propping up the invitation for all to see against the wall. "And I know for a fact that Count Vespasien will have his party outside. Everyone does this time of year. I know every nobleman and noblewoman in all of France, what parties they have, who goes to them. It had at one time been my duty to know who were on good terms with one another."

"Yes, and your idleness seems to have affected you, Monsieur de l'Écriture," sighed the Inkwell, bowing his head, but he was careful to keep the thick black ink inside him from dripping onto the floor.

"_Faux!_" said the Pen. "I have not been idle, but I have been thinking, and quite a lot, and my thought is that if we are ever going to end this curse we must do it ourselves."

"Ah, the pen is mightier than the sword," laughed the Sauce Pan.

The Pen was not amused, though some of the others were.

"Now, now," growled the Pen with some annoyance. "Don't you want to break the curse?"

"Of course we do," said the Sauce Pan.

"Then," said the Pen. "I suggest you listen to my plan. I've already discussed it with Monsieur la Chaise who has had the convenience of turning into a one man carriage. We know perfectly well that a girl would never come here in a million years."

The Inkwell shook his head and sighed and exchanged glances with the hesitant Doorstop.

"Yes," the others pressed as they leaned in closer.

"Then we bring the girl to us …" whispered the Pen.

Silence.

"But the girl has to _love_ the Master," said the Broom after a time in a very hushed tone now.

"We can orchestrate the right circumstances," said the Pen. "I've already made a design. Drawn it out, wrote it down. M. Goutte was there the whole time and knows exactly what I mean."

Again all the Inkwell could do was shake his head, and this time he did not keep in the drip of ink which splat upon the floor. He straightened himself immediately.

"If the Master were to rescue said maiden from the party of Count Vespasien," the Pen went on. "Then that would start a chain reaction, which I have written here and here." He unrolled two pieces of paper which the Inkwell had held previously under his feet.

The others were doubtful, but the Pen had chosen his audience well and knew they would go along, even if he did not entirely trust his assistant Monsieur Goutte.

"I've seen the rose," said the Pen. "Its petals are already wilting; though, I've heard tell that we get twenty-one years before the curse becomes permanent. Does anyone want to take that chance that it's sooner? And if anything should happen to the rose when the Master is in one of his tempers, what then? No, _mes amis_. No. We will end it now. Why should we suffer for the Master's temper in any of this? It is through no fault of ours what has happened to the castle."

This small group was especially desperate, especially fearful, and not the brightest people in the household to boot. He had them right where he wanted them, and the little servant who impressed others with a fine vocabulary and a strong and imposing manner with his otherwise calm quiet voice he sounded certain everything would go exactly as he planned. He meant no true harm, it must be stated. He was admittedly just as desperate, fearful and foolish as his followers.


	8. Chapter 8

JMJ

EIGHT

Two nights had passed since the abrupt halt on the Easter festivities, and this the third night Lumiere had accomplished plans of his own. Nothing too big. Nothing too fancy. Just the kitchen cleared away of anything that might hinder the dancers, and the few musicians turned instruments as well as Alphonse, the coat rack, playing with passion on his violin. Lumiere had them play by request Yann Tiersen's "La Veillée", an energetic but haunting melody, again out of time, of which seemed to fit the evening of this secret dance well.

Lumiere himself danced with Babette alongside a few other partners, slow, purposeful and although he smiled at his partner he, like everyone at this dance, held still a touch of melancholy. The dance was not as joyful as Lumiere had originally planned, but it had given some people something to look forward to and something to keep one's mind occupied.

Babette gazed in return, her eyes never leaving her partner's eyes unless a certain turn or spin of the dance forced her vision away.

"Tell me," said Babette softly so that only her partner could hear over the music. "Do you think the curse can ever be lifted? Be entirely honest with me."

"I do, _ma cherie_," said Lumiere without the slightest pause to consider the question. "Never once have I thought otherwise."

"I'll admit," said Babette, "that I am beginning to lose hope."

"No, no, don't do that," cooed Lumiere. "Don't think about that now. Listen to the music. Let it take you away."

"Another time, another place?" said Babette.

"To Paris, that city of light and love," said Lumiere.

"_Oui_," sighed Babette.

"Smile for me," Lumiere urged.

After another twirl, Babette tried as best she could to give him his desire, but it was a weak smile.

"Never lose hope," said Lumiere.

"I'll try not to," she said.

The music echoed on out of the warm glow of the kitchen into the dimly lit dining room and out into the blackened halls. Here the music trailed off into audible mist and reached into the stillness of the evening where is disappeared. Only the moaning and creaking of the castle could be heard beyond, and the sound of the wind whipping against the window panes as a soft storm rumbling through.

#

"Ah, Mademoiselle Méline," said a handsome young man stepping out onto the balcony.

The tall shrubbery just beneath the balcony quivered as though quite alarmed to see him, or amazed by his dashing smile, perhaps. But Méline who was herself also quite lovely turned just at the right moment toward the voice so that she did not notice the disturbance of foliage.

"Monsieur Raoul!" exclaimed Méline. She was quite surprised to see him as he was Count Vespasien's son.

"What is a pretty little thing like you doing here all by yourself?" asked Raoul.

"Oh, I haven't been out here long, monsieur," said Méline, flattered by his compliments, and she smiled with a lacy fan to hide it. "I'm only waiting for my partner, and since the storm's ended it's become such a beautiful night, monsieur, that I didn't mind too much."

A night truly could not be any more perfect. The sky was black, the stars shone like brilliant fairy dust sprayed over a dark canvas. The air was cool but winter's chill remained no more, and the air felt fresh, though only the faintest breeze wafted.

"What a silly girl," one shrub seemed to say to another nonetheless, but neither Méline nor Raoul heard them so that the other shrubs shushed in vain.

"The less brain the girl has the better," said another shrub much softer than the first.

"And who would leave such a beautiful partner out here when he could be having the last dance of the evening outside on this beautiful night with her?" asked Raoul.

"Monsieur?" said Méline.

"I don't like him either," said the first shrub again.

"_Silence_!" hissed another.

"You just envy them because you cannot be them," said another still.

"Monsieur Remuer couldn't even when he could, if you know what I mean," muttered a fourth.

"Would you care if I stole you away for it?" asked Raoul.

"Oh, I don't know," said Méline, in a way in which she sounded quite tempted.

"Jerks, besides," muttered the first, Monsieur Remuer.

The others again shushed him with great annoyance.

"Think less negatively about people," one of the other shrubs grumbled, but this time he was shushed too.

"I think I may have to pass, monsieur," said Méline. "I beg your understanding."

"No, no, I understand completely, mademoiselle," said Raoul with a humbled nod of his head. "I take you as a strong character."

"No, I just would not want my partner to be upset at my not telling him first. I'd be more than willing to accept your offer otherwise."

Raoul laughed, and it was a pleasant enough laugh to hear, and he turned to leave. "I hope he returns soon, mademoiselle."

"_Merci_, monsieur Raoul," said Méline.

"Good," whispered the shrubs. "He's leaving." "Get ready." "I am getting ready." "The bag, the bag." "Are you sure this is such a good idea?" "Of course it is." "You want to stay like this forever?" "Hurry, hurry!" "Before she moves." "He's nearly inside." "Get ready."

From out of the tallest tree reaching up over the balcony, an old sack emerged slow but steady as a bug catcher might hold a butterfly net over his prey. And also quite like one attempted to catch some insect quite faster than a butterfly with such a net, just as the holder thought he had her, the swipe of the sack caught only air as the girl suddenly stepped forward.

"But," said Méline with a slight tease, "Perhaps you could let there be one last dance after this one, and I could dance with both."

Again neither noticed the swaying branches off the balcony and the gasps from behind the foliage as its inhabitants tried desperately to keep balance in the boughs.

Now it was Raoul who was about to protest, but just as he opened his mouth he heard a crash below the balcony.

"What was that?" he asked.

Méline followed his direction. "I don't know."

Both looked over the edge of the balcony to see what had happened, but there was nothing there aside from what looked like a pile of old house furnishings thrown against the tree and the rest of the shrubbery.

Méline and Raoul exchanged glances and looked down again as the pile of rubbish.

"Perhaps someone just threw it out the window from the first storey," said Méline.

"I don't know who would," said Raoul.

"One of the servants?" asked Méline. "Or maybe it's some sort of joke, monsieur."

"Well, whatever it is, I plan to find out," said Raoul with a nod, and bidding farewell to the young lady for the time being he left the balcony; though Méline did not long afterward leave as well just as her partner arrived.

Moaning below the apparent rubbish below lifted themselves up and looked with longing back up at the balcony.

"It's useless," said one, "We've been at this for hours, and the last dance is just starting now."

"But they will be having the last one or two dances outside," said someone else.

"Hush," said another.

"Oh, what does it matter? No one's out on the balcony anymore."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Then what are we to do?"

"We could go back up."

"What for? The balcony was a stupid idea. Just imagine if we had caught the girl. She might have broken every bone in her delicate body!"

"Monsieur la Chaise is waiting."

"Yes, yes, I know."

"So we go back empty-handed?"

"Yes, it was a stupid plan, anyway. Why would the Master and the some kidnapped girl ever get together? This was the single worst thing I've ever done in my life."

Suddenly one of them gasped. "_Attende_!"

"What is your problem, Olivier?"

"Listen. Someone's coming," hissed Olivier à Portée, the ladder who had helped everyone climb into the shrubs and tree.

Everyone ducked back into the greenery as best they could, and looked where the ladder pointed with a leg.

"I don't believe it," said one.

"_C'est Mademoiselle Monique St. Gervais_."

#

Slowly did the man lead Monique across the courtyard. The frills of Monique's long pink plume of a dress, brushed against the damp shrubbery from which droplets leapt like lighthearted pixies as she followed her partner's silent gaze up into the dust of stars. The moon, a golden lantern, seemed to smile upon them and encourage them and both closed their eyes and lowered them to each other a moment.

Monique smiled shyly, and turned again to the night gardens as a gentle breeze kissed her face.

"So, monsieur," said Monique with care. "Are you going to tell me why you brought me our here now?"

The man smiled now too, and though for a moment he looked a little embarrassed, he soon straightened himself and said, "Can't I just enjoy a little fresh air and enjoy the silence in between dances?"

Monique's smile grew as she continued gazing at the well-groomed roses growing up out of the rose bushes not far beyond. She said nothing and waited for the other to take his time in getting around to the real reason he wanted to be alone with her.

"I've been speaking with your father," said her partner then.

"Yes," said Monique candidly. "I know you have."

"And he has, mademoiselle, come to his conclusion."

Monique could not keep in that return of her smile as she turned with eyes as mysterious as the winking stars, and just as lovely to behold.

"Count Vespasien's house, Monsieur?" said Monique. "That is a little unorthodox. I hope you did not press my father too hard before this. He could not even come for his health, this time."

"No, I promise, I did not press hard," said her partner.

"Alright then," said Monique.

"Would you accept, mademoiselle?"

"Marc …" said Monique with a shake of her head and leaning in close to him; her partner did likewise.

"One thousand — one million times do I accept," she whispered, and as the pair closed their eyes ready for their kiss no one could think of a more perfect ending in all the world.

_Svoop!_

Marc opened his eyes, and leapt back in alarm.

"Mademoiselle?" He had heard just the smallest yelp, but it had been silenced now. As he looked around he found himself entirely alone. "Monique!" he cried again, and leaping for the wall, he looked over the top just in time to see a wriggling sack pulled into a one-man carriage and start away.

He was so in shock by this scene that he did not have time to notice that the carriage was not being pulled by an animal. He leapt the rest of the way over the wall, and began to hurry after it, but as he ran through a thick cluster of trees, he lost it. No sight of it remained anywhere.

"_Monique_!"


	9. Chapter 9

JMJ

NINE

Gazing up at the paintings in one of the many galleries, Cogsworth strolled at a rather leisurely pace, but it was not so much to enjoy the paintings as it was a result of not knowing what to do.

No one had felt much like doing anything since the Easter festivities had been banned; thus aside from the sweeping and dusting and cooking, there really was nothing to oversee. He did not press anyone either given the circumstances except to point out an especially dusty corner that had been neglected. Thus overall it must be admitted that he had come to be almost bored with having nothing to do except to think, which he preferred not to do for too long, and this morning Cogsworth had awoken rather early, and few of the servants had set about chores just yet anyway, but try though he might he had been unable to return to sleep once he had woken.

A walk along the galleries was something he had not done for a time. Unlike much of the other art of the castle most of the paintings had remained unadulterated by the curse. Oh, a freak mockery from time to time of some person or other being replaced by some monster plagued a painting or two, yet Cogsworth had become quite good at ignoring such things in the new décor of the castle. He knew which ones they were by now anyway, and his eyes passed them over as a matter of course.

He looked at gatherings of people in pageantry and ceremony, portraits of the Master's family members and ancestors, and romantic scenes of gardens, flowers and towns, mysterious scenes of sunsets and woods, and of mountains and valleys. He categorized the paintings in the way of his calculating mind into categories ranging from color to artist, to period, to mood and personal preference in a half conscious sort of way. He went on like this until he came at last to a painting that did strike his interest enough to pause him in his next step.

He had passed the painting many times before, and just as many times as he had passed it he had given it little thought in the past. It was a painting of a Spanish ship coming into Marseille, which had been purchased four or five years ago now among a group of paintings by a relatively new artist in the art world. Most of his work seemed to be aimed at the wilder side, and he remembered only once mildly thinking them to be a little mismatched in this particular gallery.

But as to what had attracted him now?

Something in the sails, perhaps? Something in the way the crisp sunlight touched the backs of the sailors and glistened in the water and on the buildings in the port? The whiteness of the clouds? The vastness of the bay? The firmness of the captain? Whatever it was that had originally struck him he stepped back a bit to get a better look at it. His back was up against the opposite wall and he still could not get the full effect he wanted for his quite diminished size, and painting's being hung for typical human eye lines.

Regardless, he made do with what he could get, and he stared into the waves and into the bay and the one or two trees peeking out somewhere to the side of the port. At last they reached the middle where the ship was, and here his eyes rested.

Though as a firm believer that one should keep one's station he had the strangest desire at that moment to be one of the sailors. He could feel the wind upon his face and pulling at his clothes. He could feel the sun upon his back and the sound of the waves crashing upon the swaying ship. He could hear the sea birds cry above him loud and clear as they soared high and free. The freedom and danger of the sea always ahead, the feeling of accomplishment for every wild storm he had survived ever behind him. His skin would be darkened by shade-less days under the ocean sun with every shipment of goods brought safely to port. He would remember foreign lands and strange tongues, animals like something out of a fairy tale walking in life before his very eyes, people and customs from right out of Marco Polo's travels.

Strange flutes and strings played haunting melodies from Morocco, India, China, and maybe the wild lands of the still half-tamed Americas. Jungles and natives and smells of cocoa and the tastes of wild fruits surrounded him in a rainbow of foreign delight. Gold and ruins and the famed birds of paradise he had heard so much about coated in Spanish exploration. Going up north he found the Saint Lawrence River where he felt proud to be a Frenchman: trade with the good Indians who gave warnings of the bad. There were war drums, and missionaries, and furs, mountains and canyons unchartered.

A true wildness awoke in his heart, and he suddenly yearned for such a life of independence. How strong he would have been had he chosen such a life: not round and fumbling, he would have been stout-hearted, firm, with a keen hawk eye. He had not had such a strong urging for something so out of his path of life since the age of twelve when he had suddenly wished to be a cabin boy in the usual way of childish fancies on a visit to the sea in Brittany where some of his less formal relatives on his mother's side resided.

_Well, every man is a silly little boy at one time_, he told himself with a sad sort of chuckle as he pictured a younger version of himself leaping onto the dock and staring out toward the Atlantic.

At this last thought, he returned from the sea and found himself upon solid floor in the castle gallery once again. Bound to his small, wooden box frame and clockwork in stillness and solitude, he let out a heavy sigh. The ticking of the pendulum became the only sound aside from a deep moaning in the castle heights.

Cogsworth shrugged. _You only want that now because you can't have it_, he told himself returning to his usual practical manner as he continued on his way. _Think about the present at hand and things will go far better._

He glanced down at the glass case on his front.

He should perhaps consider cleaning himself after his rounds, which was something he had not attempted well for some time now as still he considered wiping glass and polishing brass on one's own person a most awkward experience. Now indeed he did not have to clean himself much as compared to a human, but the glass especially was starting to look a tad musty and lacked its original shine that it had possessed upon the enchantment's beginnings.

Lumiere, Cogsworth remembered, said that he had already gotten into the habit of giving himself a good polishing when necessary, and Cogsworth still had to shake his head with distaste for such a thing.

It was a form of pride, he knew. If he wanted to keep up personal dignity as head of the household, he needed to look as well as he could, given the circumstances, and put aside what he felt about the process. How could it be any different really that taking a bath, except that he had to be careful how he cleaned the wooden casing.

Then afterward if there were no further duties, which probably would not come up, maybe he could spend some time in the library. What else was there to do these days? He could catch up on a little reading: familiarize himself again with the history of the Roman Empire, or something on that order.

Thus with a set plan in mind for the day he made for the outer corridor and turned the corner. He had not gone far however when he heard someone call out for him from behind, and though he was in some way grateful for the interruption of the mundane dreariness of the castle, the tone of the voice did not sound as if the reason for calling him would be anything he really wanted to hear.

"Monsieur Cogsworth," said the Inkwell as he scurried up on tiny feet just behind the butler.

"What is it?" he asked.

Drips of ink the Inkwell caught just in time from falling onto the floor from the seemingly endless supply inside M. Goutte's head as he looked up with anxiety, and more than Cogsworth remembered seeing on the usually glumly placid secretary's assistant since the last letter received from the king two years back.

"I wasn't certain," he said, composing himself somewhat, "if I should go to the Master or not, but—"

"The Master?" Cogsworth demanded. "What has happened?"

"Well … it's Monsieur de l'Écriture," said Goutte.

"Yes?" Cogsworth pressed impatiently. "What? Is someone coming here? Some letter of disturbance?"

"No, no, monsieur, no letter, it's, well, everyone has become so desperate," said Goutte. "There was nothing I could have said. I thought it was a terrible idea to begin with, but I cannot tell Monsieur de l'Écriture the time of day once something's hard in his head. And they've gone, monsieur."

"Who have gone? Why?"

"People under the orders of Monsieur de l'Écriture and his usual way with words," said Goutte, "they've gone, monsieur, to the house of Count Vespasien."

"What?!" snapped Cogsworth, now quite alarmed. "Whatever for!? To beg!?"

"To take matters into their own hands, according to de l'Écriture," said Goutte. "I'm ashamed to say that they have taken your words too literally and have gone to the spring party of Count Vespasien with the intention of returning to the castle with a girl."

"A _girl_!" cried Cogsworth, his voice echoing about the corridor like the last cries of a nightmare. He jumped himself at the volume of it and looked about quickly to make sure no one else would have been near enough to have understood what he had said. The fear that the Master lurked somewhere about especially caused Cogsworth to shudder.

Then he turned sharply back to Goutte so that in the other's surprise ink splattered on the floor.

"Who else knows about this?" Cogsworth demanded.

"Only those in Monsieur de l'Écriture's strict confidence," said Goutte.

"Are you sure!?" Cogsworth checked his voice, and then asked far quieter as he leaned in closer to Goutte, "Are you _absolutely_ certain?"

"Positively," said Goutte with a slow nod.

"When did they leave?" Cogsworth demanded. "Is there time to still catch them? Monday is an odd night to have a party, but—"

"They left last night, monsieur," said Goutte.

"_What_?" gasped Cogsworth, "but why didn't you tell me earlier? And what do you mean they took me too literally?" He spoke this last question in a near growl of frustration and fretting.

"I don't know for sure," said Goutte. "I wasn't there, and neither was Monsieur de l'Écriture. It came from someone else who said that you in passing said something about kidnapping a girl."

"I said _no_ such thing!" protested Cogsworth, and after a miserable moan said, "Never mind that now! If they're not back yet they soon shall be! We must catch them before it's too late. Perhaps it already is! What would any sane man do upon discovering living objects dragging a poor girl scared out of her wits across the grounds? But I also shudder to think that they could have possibly succeeded and—" He shuddered. "Come with me!"

Goutte nodded and scurried after Cogsworth already hurrying as fast as he could toward the main entrance of the castle.

"And we mustn't say anything to the Master if we can help it," Cogsworth hissed.

Goutte looked surprised to hear that coming from Cogsworth.

Once reaching sight of the doors a windowsill near at hand lit up, and Cogsworth did not have to look hard to know this light belonged to Lumiere. He often slept in the windows by the doors, and the shouts and commotion of Cogsworth (and not so much Goutte, quieter by nature) running his way must have woken him. Indeed as Cogsworth made for the doors, Lumiere could be heard calling out to know what had happened.

Not answering, Cogsworth pushed his way outside and hurried down the walk, across the courtyard and out for the gate. He did not stop until he came to the road, and he stopped quite suddenly here nearly tripping over his feet with a yelp. Then he spun around and stared down in the direction of the house of Count Vespasien.

He had been up quite early. Dawn was just coming up over the horizon, except that in the thick of the wood and the overcast of the castle, the only evidence of the sun was that the blackness of night had turned to a dark plum and dim greenish grey. It was enough light however so that Cogsworth could see that no one came up the road.

Panting hard for a reason that Cogsworth could not physically explain without lungs, he still looked around him as though perhaps the kidnappers had come through the wood itself and would emerge any moment from the thick of the underbrush, or worse … the Master. From tree, to stone, to the shuffling of a bird, he turned but saw nothing unusual.

"Whatever is the matter?" asked Lumiere as he and Goutte caught up with the butler.

"_Shu—shu—shu—sh-sh-sh_!" stuttered Cogsworth holding a hand in front of Lumiere's face, which Lumiere promptly moved aside.

"Come now, Cogsworth, what's this all about?"

"Listen!" Cogsworth hissed.

The other two stopped to listen and heard it too.

Wagon wheels approached.

"Someone _is_ coming," whispered Cogsworth.

Making their way down the road a ways they peered down a slope and all three saw the one-man carriage coming up toward the castle.

"Isn't that la Chaise?" asked Lumiere.

"It is," said Cogsworth darkly with eyes locked onto the carriage. "Your light's making it hard to see them. I thought I saw someone else with him before you—"

"Where has he been?" Lumiere wanted to know, ignoring Cogsworth's complaint. "What secret is going on here?"

"A girl," said Goutte.

Cogsworth moaned and rubbed his protruding temples.

"A girl?" gasped Lumiere and turned to Cogsworth for further information.

"They've kidnapped a girl," said Cogsworth without turning to the others. "We've got to stop them before they can go any further."

La Chaise stopped before reaching them; however, for he could see the trio far better than they could see him and the others which rode on top of him or traveled behind him. Nevertheless, Cogsworth called out for them to stop right after that moment. Instead of halting upon hearing who spoke, la Chaise continued again and made it up to the top of the hill and the castle wall.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" demanded Cogsworth forgetting to keep his voice down.

Monsieur de l'Écriture, the Pen glared down from the carriage from behind a taller item, the step ladder Olivier à Portée, and shushed Cogsworth. "Fixing the situation," he said, and he did sound rather desperate. "Please be quiet, Monsieur Cogsworth, or you'll spoil everything. This is no time to be thinking about propriety."

His glare however fell more upon the Inkwell who glared in return than to Cogsworth or Lumiere.

Cogsworth jumped.

"See here, you!" he shouted up at him. "Whatever madness has struck you!? How can you possibly hope to think that the Master—"

Pushing past him Lumiere interjected, "You mean to say that you actually kidnapped a guest of Count Vespasien?"

"Yes, that's exactly what they mean," snapped Cogsworth pushing him back. "And you're not helping, so stay out of—"

"HELP!"

Lumiere was first to react to the cry and once again pushed past Cogsworth and jumped onto the foot step before la Chaise could react. The windows were all covered from the outside with cloth fastened around the edges, and Lumiere thought at first to lift an edge of one to see inside.

"Don't do that!" hissed Cogsworth. "Don't let her _see_ you!"

"The poor girl is already as scared as she can be," said Lumiere as the girl continued to yell from the inside, and Lumiere said in a lower tone, "That sounds like Monique St. Gervais."

"It is Monique St. Gervais," retorted the Pen. He was the only one on his side that looked as if they had any confidence in the idea at all anymore. "Monsieur la Chaise. Keep going."

La Chaise obeyed with such a lurch forward on his wheels that Lumiere just barely caught himself on the door handle, which he had been about to open.

"Wait!" cried Cogsworth running after the carriage as fast as he could. "Come back! What do you think you're doing?! What will the Master say?!"

"The Master wants to escape this curse just as much as we do," snapped Monsieur de l'Écriture. "I was going to speak with him of this personally just after—_Don't open it_!" he cried. "Not yet!"

Too late. Lumiere did, and Monique pushed out with all her might causing Lumiere to fall onto the road from the still moving carriage and his light to go out.

The girl turned sharply back a moment as she ran forward, but as she saw no one, not even horses, she became even more frightened and ran for the gates of Prince Adam's castle. She knew as well as anyone about the word that Adam no longer resided at the castle, but he must have servants still working there to keep it up in his absence.

The gate had already been left open for her as the servants she had been thinking about stood upon the road and had quite recently passed through them without closing them behind them. She fled to the doors and knocked with all her might. "Please!" she begged. "Please! Let me in! Help! Somebody! Help!"

The servants on the road stood frozen as they watched the poor and frantic girl at the doorstep.

"Maybe it will work after all," said the Pen at last.

"Mademoiselle Monique is no idiot," said Lumiere. "She'd figure out eventually that you kidnapped her."

"Unless she's deaf," muttered the Monsieur Goutte, his ink splattered in a trail behind him from the hill to the gate. "And didn't hear a word you said just earlier, or Monsieur Cogsworth."

"Someone's going to hear _her_ now," shuddered Cogsworth.

"The Master will eventually," said someone else on top of the carriage.

"We could knock her out and send her home," said the Sauce Pan.

"Knock her out?" gasped Cogsworth. "Miss Monique!"

"Shush, shut up, Monsieur Cogsworth," whispered the Pen.

"'Shut up?'" demanded Cogsworth slowly turning to Monsieur de l'Écriture. "You have the gall to ask me to 'shut up' after what you've just done?" He was beside himself, it must be admitted, and in a state of unmovable uncertainty. His voice came out hallow and fraught and his face was a wreck.

Monique had stopped yelling by now. No one seemed to be home, or if people were there they were so deep within the castle that they could not hear her.

Slowly she stared out behind her and still saw nothing but the carriage just outside the gate. She had heard the voice of Cogsworth shout out her name, however, and she knew someone was about. Lucky for the servants she would not have as clear of memory of their voices as they had of hers from the last time they had seen her at the Christmas party.

As she squinted into the gloom, her panic subsided somewhat. Although still much afraid she took it upon herself to see what was going on or at least to step a few paces toward the gate. She felt somewhat safe behind the walls of the castle grounds. Perhaps the kidnappers were afraid to venture into the prince's domain. Perhaps they had not heard that the prince no longer lived at the castle.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she stepped forward

"If everyone would just stay still," whispered Cogsworth just loud enough to be sure everyone around him heard where everyone hid now behind la Chaise, "it's possible that she will leave down the road for the house of Count Vespasien or down into the village the other way."

"Oh, Cogsworth, she can't go walking through the wood all by herself," Lumiere whispered back.

"The sun will be up soon," returned Cogsworth. "And we'll have someone quiet secretly follow to make sure she stays safe. I say it should be Monsieur de l'Écriture," here he leered at the object in question. "If some wild creature attempts to nab her he can stab it in the foot."

Monsieur de l'Écriture snorted, but he too looked as if he was beginning to regret what he had done at last.

"Cogsworth, she can't," whispered Lumiere.

"Well, she certainly can't stay here," hissed Cogsworth. "Not Monique St. Gervais. The Master will have a fit! Who knows what he'll do. Out of all the girls …"

"Maybe she's the one," said Lumiere. "Like I said from the very beginning. Mademoiselle Monique and the Master are perfect for each other, and it would just make sense that the last girl he offends is the girl who frees him."

"Don't be stupid," said Cogsworth closing his eyes with disgust. "What would Count St. Gervais say? The Master will not …"

Goutte tapped Cogsworth on side.

"What?" he whispered.

With a foot, Goutte pointed.

Lumiere was not listening, but instead had already taken it upon himself to approach the girl himself.

"Lumiere!" Cogsworth squeaked, throwing his hands to the sides of his head in dismay.


	10. Chapter 10

JMJ

TEN

Lighting himself and hopping through the gate Lumiere at once attracted the attention of the girl who gasped and stepped back in alarm.

"Mademoiselle," he said with a sweeping bow.

"He's mad," said the Sauce Pan as he and the others peaked out from behind and under la Chaise.

Cogsworth slapped his forehead. "No, he's Lumiere," he grumbled. "Though at times there isn't much of a difference."

After a wince to Cogsworth the Sauce Pan returned his attention to the scene on hand.

"Don't be afraid, _ma cherie_," said Lumiere to Monique in his usual bright manner. "This has all been a most unfortunate misunderstanding."

"Oh," moaned Cogsworth. "As long as she's seen Lumiere we might as well have Monsieur la Chaise bring her back, if at all possible."

"Must I?" murmured la Chaise.

Cogsworth did not hear; eyes remained fixed on Monique and Lumiere. He tried to push himself forward to relate this simple plan to Monique himself, but he could not. Though he wanted to help Monique and get her out of this cursed place as soon as possible, he remained rooted to his spot unable to show himself. Lumiere breaking the ice first did nothing to encourage him to come out as well to be seen as he was now, not even an animal but an animate inanimate object.

He bit his lip, and tried once more to move forward. A few steps toward the gate and he stopped just at the opening and stared again at the bubble of candlelight surrounding Monique and Lumiere.

The poor girl unsure what to do dropped onto her knees, her eyes wide with a sort of daze for all the strange happenings, but as Lumiere tried to coax her, she suddenly came to and said in a whisper like one speaking to a ghost, "Your voice!"

Lumiere suddenly stopped speaking.

"Y—you sound just like the porter here when we—"

As the girl's realization came through like a jolt through a nightmare, the Master's roar eclipsed all like the boom of thunder just as lightning strikes directly overhead. The storm was soon to follow as everyone froze, chilled as ice upon the emergence of the master of the castle.

"The Master …" whispered someone from behind.

Cogsworth and the other objects outside the gate shuddered, and Lumiere stood on the walk with mouth slightly ajar in rigid dismay.

"_YOU_!" snarled the Master.

Monique jumped to her feet and saw him in all his monstrous horror with teeth barred and eyes icy lamps of blue flame blazing like fiery arrows released from their quivers. His back and shoulders arched like a bear ready to kill for its territory, and his hands stiff and only half clenched like the hands of a madman of gorilla build. And with head bowed in uncontrollable fury his horns seemed poised for the charge of a wild bull at a Spanish bullfight.

"Out of everyone it had to be _you_!" snarled the Master.

Breathing queerly, Monique stood in stupefied silence before this hideous creature who too sounded familiar, despite the added lion growl in the back of his throat. She stared with eyes wide and teeth clenched together.

That most terrified stare from that pretty face caused the Master's rage to build to even more monstrous proportions, but he simply stood as well; though in a manner that looked ready to pounce at any second.

"Prince … _Adam_ …?" cracked the weakened voice of Monique at last.

Muscles tensed, and the growl in the back of his throat wound his rage like a spring.

"Master, no!" Lumiere cried.

"Wait!" begged Cogsworth instantly awoken from his own stupor by Lumiere.

Whether by the shouts of his servant or not, the Master merely let out another roar as he stomped forward toward the girl, but he did her no physical harm.

"I HATE YOU!"

It was at this time that everything seemed to come together in some fashion in the terrified mind of Monique, and she could stand no more. With eyes rolling to the back of her head she collapsed before the Master's feet in complete exhaustion fainted.

Silence. A dead and miserable silence.

Mrs. Potts had come now and peeked through a crack in the front doors with Chip peeking fearfully from behind, but otherwise no one else moved. Seeing the fainted girl on the ground, Mrs. Potts lowered her head to the floor and closed her eyes in sorrow.

"Why is she here?" hissed the Master in a voice near inaudible.

No one could answer.

"Well?" pressed the Master, still at a somewhat subdued volume; though his glare penetrated from Lumiere to the servants at the gate with a strong passion even still. His eyes narrowed suspiciously upon Monsieur la Chaise.

Lumiere cleared his throat, interrupting the Master's train of thought upon the matter of the one-man carriage. As the Master turned roughly back into his direction Lumiere backed up a hop.

"Master," he said then with a bow and some hesitance. "Might I suggest that we decide what to do with Mademoiselle Monique first?"

The Master growled in the back of his throat, but he did not say anything against such a novel suggestion.

"We can't just leave her here on the ground, after all," said Lumiere.

A leer was his only answer.

"Of course not," said Mrs. Potts practically as she bounced outside. "The poor girl."

Lumiere suggested, "Maybe we should bring her inside, and—

"No! Absolutely not!" gasped Cogsworth. "It's far too late for that, Lumiere!"

"But she knows who we are," said Lumiere, "and she has a good heart."

"She's been practically molested in this experience! It will never work!" Cogsworth retorted.

Approaching the girl now himself, he looked down upon her human form with both pity and longing.

If only Lumiere had been right and Monique had been the girl to break the spell. It seemed centuries since he last saw a human face, and he felt a strange emptiness at not breathing as she was now. He heard the cold sound of the swaying pendulum inside him rather than the beating of his human heart, and he felt just a tinge of envy for her to have remained human, whereas he and the rest of the castle …

"We should return her at once," said Cogsworth then turning sharply away with a haughty air.

"Return her?" demanded the Master then; he had previously been staring at Monique without a word.

Cogsworth jumped and spun around to look up at the Master.

"Uh, eh—retur—what I—oh …"

He winced.

"It was Monsieur de l'Écriture!" exclaimed the Sauce Pan. "It was his idea!"

Many of the others agreed, and the Pen looked as if he would faint as well as he looked up at the blazing eyes of the Master.

"E-e-e_nough_!" snapped the Master. "Why did you bring her here?!"

"Please, Master, let's just return her," Cogsworth begged. "She could wake at any moment."

"Yes, it will only make it worse if she wakes, please, Master," agreed Mrs. Potts.

The Master ignored them and prowled on all fours toward the Pen.

"Master …" cracked M. de l'Écriture. "Master, I beg of you …"

But the Master walked passed him and straight for the carriage instead. As he stopped he held up a great paw in fury against the carriage. Everyone covered their eyes, but all he did was roughly open the door.

"Take her," he grumbled.

"Oh …" sighed the Pen.

Las Chaise let loose a shudder.

Moving back to Monique, the Master picked her up careful that she would not wake up, and prowled past the gate and the servants who bowed their heads with remorse as their master put Monique into the carriage. He then slammed the door and ordered the carriage to take her away. Then he left himself to go inside the castle. More servants watching from the windows dashed away as he stepped through the doorway. The front door he slammed behind him too and the foundations shook around it.

"_Maman_ …?" asked Chip who had sneaked out to his mother's side during a calmer part of the activities.

"Yes, love?" asked Mrs. Potts.

"I thought we wanted a girl to come," Chip said. "Why are we sending her away?"

Mrs. Potts kissed him softly but gave no answer. What could be said?

#

_« … Et le vent du nord le emporte_

_Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli._

_Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié_

_La chanson que tu me chantais … »_

Cogsworth sighed as Lumiere for the second time that evening sang "Les Feuilles Mortes" as sung by Yves Montand. He did not know what was worse, Lumiere overly hopeful or Lumiere sad. He had to say that he missed him being happy even though he had no doubt that Lumiere would be more himself within the next few days.

_« … et la mer efface sur le sable … »_

"Oh," Cogsworth moaned again louder this time and with a shudder, "must you? It's making it all worse, and Alphonse's violin playing along with it isn't helping either. It's just overly emotional misery. It's unneeded. If they miss loving each other then they might as well love each other again and be done with it. It's absurd. They both just lacked commitment as far as I can see. Neither one died, after all."

"Nor has any of us here and now," murmured Lumiere, trance-like as though his words were part of the song. "Only love has died. That is the tragedy of it."

"What love?" Cogsworth demanded. "There was no love to begin with. This whole thing is stupid. Alphonse! Stop, please. Just stop!"

Alphonse obeyed. The violin playing ceased.

"You really don't like music, do you," remarked Lumiere with some annoyance.

"I like music plenty," Cogsworth retorted. "_Airs de cour_ is one of my favorite styles of music. I also like the works of Rameau. Lully. Couperin — both! The German operas are also quite to my liking. And I would by far prefer to hear such music again over what I must suffer through for music since we've been shut out of society. Why couldn't someone have turned into a harpsichord?" He sighed. "Never mind."

Lumiere smiled for the first time since Monique had arrived at the castle.

"Alphonse, why don't you play something intensely Baroque for our poor major domo," teased Lumiere, his smile turning into a wry grin.

"No, thank you …" muttered Cogsworth. "I'm not in the mood."

"There's still time left," said Lumiere as Alphonse began to play something of Germany's latest and finest as of last Christmas nonetheless.

"Not according to your song, there isn't," said Cogsworth. "Not one moment more."

"Pff, that's just a little release of stress," said Lumiere. "I still firmly believe we'll get out of this someday."

Cogsworth looked away. "I wish I thought so." A short pause of remorse went through him, but after a moment he returned to his companion and said in a far stronger tone, "But after thinking long and hard about it, Lumiere, I have determined that from this day forth I will not dwell upon the past that we cannot have back. Nor long for a future and get my hopes up for something that may, and it is most probable, never be.

At this last phrase, Lumiere frowned but said nothing for the moment.

"If I must spend the rest of my days, however long they may be, as a clock," said Cogsworth allowing the time to read upon his face for a second or two. "Then so be it. There are far worse things to be, I suppose, like a maggot or a crumb or a criminal condemned to a lifetime of solitary confinement and torture whether human or not."

"Agreed," said the not often heard voice of Alphonse.

_And if at the last moment we shall be spared an eternity of being cursed, then I shall be pleasantly surprised and happy, but not a second before,_ Cogsworth added to himself.

It was not long after this resolution that a Mop appeared to say that someone new had come their way outside.

"It must be people from the house of Count Vespasien," said Lumiere as the trio exchanged glances (though Alphonse did not have much of a glance to exchange).

The Mop said that he thought this as well.

Thus the trio, the Mop, and a few others among them including Mrs. Potts, Chip, and Babette, quickly left for the front windows to peek outside. They saw at once men examining the grounds. They did not seem like many, but perhaps four or five in all unless there were others on the other side of the castle already.

"It looks as if they came to investigate what Count St. Gervais' daughter must have said when they found her," said a Picture Frame with a simple painting of a child holding flowers behind glass inside her.

"Then we must make sure they see nothing," said Lumiere.

"Indeed," said Cogsworth, and turning to Lumiere he said, "Turn out your light."

Before Lumiere could do so himself others quickly blew him out, but he did not to relight himself.

"We should lock the doors," said a Mixing Bowl.

Cogsworth nodded. "Alphonse," he said. "Take some others with you to make certain every door is locked tight."

In a sweeping motion, Alphonse took his leave.

"What about the Master?" asked Lumiere then.

"Someone should tell him," said Mrs. Potts.

With a deep breath Cogsworth spoke up with some self-importance even if his intent was meant well, "I shall go to tell him." He knew Mrs. Potts would have offered if he had not, and he felt a sense of duty about this, especially since he felt he had failed in regard to the kidnapping of Monique.

In a way he had hoped that someone would dissuade him in his decision, but as no one replied to him at all, he cleared his throat and marched with a lofty air toward the West Wing.

"Mrs. Potts, please take care of things while I'm away," he ordered before he disappeared around the corridor corner.

Although he was quite small, he did not feel the diminished height much anymore except when going to the West Wing. Besides the fact that that staircase had been the very location of his enchantment, no one liked much to have to go up into the Master's bedchambers. To inform the Master of something that would make him unhappier than he already was in his place of brooding was something near unbearable, and there was a certain dark aura about the West Wing more than any other area of castle, as if this spot had been cursed far deeper than the rest of it.

Nevertheless, forcing himself not to think about it hard, Cogsworth made his way up the stairs with far greater ease and speed than he would have dreamed upon his first being his curse. At the top of the stairs, he slowed down somewhat and wrung his hands together fumblingly. With a pair of shuddering shoulders, he came up to the door, which was actually opened a crack, at which he jumped back in surprise.

The Master was not there, however, at least not just behind the door.

Fumbling again, Cogsworth closed his eyes and let out the tiniest moan. No one was around in the hallway, but the Master was inside. He could hear a slight growl from on the other side of the door, and as Cogsworth opened his eyes and peered through the crack, he pushed the door open a bit to see the Master's back facing him far on the other side of the chamber, and silhouetted in the late afternoon light from the balcony window.

"What do you want?" the Master demanded.

"I …" Cogsworth started. Then clearing his throat he strengthened his voice and stepped into the chamber with bow. "Master, I just thought it best to inform you that there are … uh, people outside, sir."

It would be far better to tell him about it than to let him find out on his own, or so Cogsworth had thought until the Master said darkly in return, "I know."

"Ah!" said Cogsworth. "Well, it's — uh, good to let them look and then to leave."

The Master snorted. "If they stay outside … and don't stay too long."

"We have locked the doors, but I think they're only looking for the sake of Mademoiselle Monique," said Cogsworth.

"I know why they're here," snarled the Master. "Do you think I would let them trespass if I didn't?!"

"No!" gasped Cogsworth perhaps a little too quickly.

"I don't want them to recognize me too," he growled low under his breath.

There was silence for a few moments then, and Cogsworth thought that perhaps another reason why the Master had done nothing against who would otherwise be known as intruders was that he really did not feel in the mood for that, and preferred to be left to sulk. And what a place to sulk, Cogsworth could not help but observe, as he glanced around at the state of the chamber: ruined bed, slashed painting, crashed items all about. Alone in the chamber stood only a small table upon which floated the rose with its ethereal glow beneath its glass case, and the mirror lay beside it.

"I'm sure they won't stay long," said Cogsworth calmly now after a moment or two as he reverted his vision back to the Master.

Hopefully the party outside had already left.

The Master did not answer. He still hardly looked at the butler.

"Yes … well … I suppose I shall leave you then," said Cogsworth with another and far more appropriate bow.

As he turned to leave however, the Master turned after him and asked with some hesitance, "Do you think it would have worked?"

"Would what have worked, sir?" asked Cogsworth, turning back again with hands behind his back after his old manner of primness.

"Monique," said the Master sadly.

"Well, I …" Cogsworth returned him with a slow shake of his head. "I don't know." After a short pause he looked up at the Master and added, "I wish I did, Master."

He said this not out of fear for the Master, but he meant it in sincerest love for the Master in the best way a servant can. It must be said that it stirred that affection to hear that the Master wanted to hear his advice. Whether or not he respected Cogsworth he certainly trusted him. To hear it from the Master's own mouth that he required Cogsworth's opinion on such a delicate matter made him truly sorry he did not have much advice to offer, nor much consolation, and this hurt most of all.

He could have, like Lumiere, say that there was still time or that surely the curse would break one day if they tried their hardest to make themselves open to a girl's arrival, but Cogsworth had just promised himself not to think of the future, and the Master had not asked about it. However the past, Cogsworth had not meant to dwell on either, but he could think of very little to say about the present that would make things any better for the Master.

The Master himself had by now turned away from Cogsworth again and returned to the window with a growl.

The whinny of horses sounded faintly from outside, and it seemed that the men who had come to investigate matters had decided it best to leave; though Cogsworth could not see this for himself. He hoped now they could tell Monique that her kidnappers had changed their minds about kidnapping her and that during the trauma of the experience she had fallen asleep or fainted with mental exertion and dreamed everything she had seen at the castle.

"If …" Cogsworth started again as something to say at last came to his mind, "if ever you need anything, anything all, um … I'm ever here."

"What's left of you," the Master grumbled.

Cogsworth could not help his heavy-browed scowl at this.

"Oh …" he moaned rubbing his temple. "Well, there is enough of me, Master, I assure you," he tried once more, "to serve you in faithfulness."

"I know," murmured the Master, and this was the closest thing anyone could ever expect to receive of his gratitude, but Cogsworth really wanted some resilience rather than thanks. He was his servant, after all. It was his duty to serve him.

However, Cogsworth resigned himself to the fact that he would receive nothing better as a response, and thus with a last bow of his head (though the Master did not look to see it), he withdrew from the chamber.


	11. Chapter 11

JMJ

ELEVEN

Weeks passed uneventfully. The Master remained in his room and did not come out, but meals were brought to him and he ate them. Luster in chores seemed to lack the same dedication that the servants had once given to them. More and more, it could not be helped; there seemed no reason to keep the castle clean and respectable. The Master himself did not come down much save to the dining room on rare occasions and his sitting room rarer still. Cogsworth became more incessant about the chores himself contrary to everyone else, but the others began to pay him less and less mind as those weeks turned again to months. Though Cogsworth's enthusiasm had not diminished, however, his sense of balance as far as his duties were concerned seemed a bit off. Already he began showing signs of more eccentricity than usual because of his lack of purpose save to order everyone around.

When Christmas drew near, work ceased altogether for nearly the whole castle. The Master wanted nothing but a normal meal for Christmas day, and though no one had mentioned her, he proclaimed the name "Monique" forbidden to be spoken even in private ever again. The anniversary of the curse began the second year of the enchantment a couple days later, and though some, such as Lumiere tried to encourage the rest, the majority would remain quite glum until at least a week or so after that anniversary.

The Master himself after making his command on Christmas day, reverting back a few days earlier again, prowled up to his chambers into the West Wing and picked up the mirror. He hesitated a moment as he glared into the reflection of his eyes, the only part of him that still resembled his former self. He closed his eyes for a moment and then asked see for himself what had become of Monique St. Gervais.

The mirror produced a flash of light as the Master opened his eyes again, and the room of a most shabby little house appeared with nothing but meager furnishing and the wind of winter bashing against the walls as though to tear the house right over. He wrinkled his nose with distaste at such pathetic surroundings. He could not see the warmth and love at the hearth, nor the beauty of how the little objects had been placed with care upon the mantelpiece and brought fullness to the room.

At first the Master thought that somehow the mirror had made a mistake, but no.

After a moment he then saw Monique, and his eyes widened with surprise. Beside her mother sitting in a chair knelt the once fair and proud Monique St. Gervais. The women were together singing Christmas songs and making the most of what they had, even if a sadness could be seen behind their smiles, but what had happened to them? Why was the wife and daughter of the noble Comte St. Gervais reduced to these shambles? The Beast demanded these questions of the mirror, and the mirror flashed again the sight of grey towers of stone against thick but silent falling snow. These stood, he knew seconds later, as markers for the dead of the upper class of society as the mirror gave him full view.

Her father?

The count had on occasion been in poor health, but even if he died why should his family live in such a little house? He demanded this of the mirror also but then changed his mind. He had a guess of his own, and he did not care to see anything more anyway. It all made his aura of gloom all the gloomier. Some relative had some stronger claim over Count St. Gervais' estate, and was too cold to take pity on the poor widow and her daughter, or at least tricked his way into having it. Some greedy leech.

"Why didn't _he_ turn into a monster?" the Beast growled at the mirror, but the mirror could not answer such a question as that. It could only answer how events were now, not anything that could have happened or theories lost to the mind. Besides, the answer was plain enough, because the vile enchantress came to his castle not whoever decided to be cruel to Adele and Monique.

Lifting up the mirror he made to throw it into the floor, but just before he released full fury, he stopped himself. After a grim pause, he set the mirror upon the table face-down and stared miserably out his balcony windows below which spring still blossomed, an eternal late spring so that the roses in the back gardens always bloomed. Only the front walk ever showed signs of the seasons, and there too it had remained a muted effect and never gathered as much snow or storm as outside the castle. The roses had to bloom in the gardens to be a constant reminder of the rose beneath the glass case and the time slipping past hour after hour, petal after petal …

Maybe he should not have been so hard on Monique … but it was too late for such thoughts now, the Master sulked in pit of self-pity. He had little pity for what had happened to Monique only further selfish misery about the curse of the castle and nothing more, and thus the curse remained.

#

Ever since Monique had come to the castle even if now she had dismissed her experiences as a nightmare herself and moved far away with her mother, the rumor of the abandoned castle of Prince Adam being now ruled over by some monster blossomed at certain inns across the provincial countryside. Perhaps, some said, that was even why the prince had fled so suddenly. Perhaps, the beast had eaten the prince. It was never suggested, for Monique had never given such an idea even on her first account of the experience, that the beast was in fact Prince Adam himself.

These inns spoke in hushed whispers of how the beast devoured stray travelers that wandered through the woods like some forgotten phantom. Some tales became relatively creative though adding to the testimony that there was a vast fortune still hidden somewhere upon the estate left behind by Prince Adam. This part was the part that grew rather wild after a year or two. Thus it was that on occasion, some daring, scrappy youths took it upon themselves to investigate the matter as well as some notorious thieves who believed more in the treasure than some beast. And although there were few deaths that were actually recorded associated with these investigations few who came back ever related what happened at the castle except to say that whether a beast lived there or not, the place was surely haunted for the objects of the house played tricks, and voices echoed eerily through the creaking and groaning of the castle for those one or two that actually made it inside the castle.

There was one man however that after having set out to see the castle to gain a fortune and some fun at the inns did not return at all, and he was a well known individual. This caused a stir in the Village just on the other side of the wood from whence the seeker had come, and no one afterwards went out to the castle. The talk of haunting grew stronger at the inns instead and of evil lurking even along the road to the castle. People began more and more to use the longer road to the other side and even then they traveled quickly, for no one wished to have to travel through the wood after dusk normally, now with a haunted castle looming over the wood most shivered all the way through. At least for a few years. This settled down somewhat after the bishop banished all evil spirits from the wood, but the old road never was used again. The wilder stories were forgotten by most, though the Village just at the edge of the wood continued on occasion to serve the residents of the inn fresh stories, steamy and succulent to hear of the beast and his ghostly castle.

The castle itself looked more and more neglected though no one, not even the servants saw it often from the outside. The inside was enough to think about, and few cared enough about that. Until, that is, a certain villager, new to the area about two or three years, decided to take the shorter road along the way to the castle; though he did not know it. He had heard of the castle, of course, but he knew nothing of its location. He was too much in a hurry to care anything about spooks or monsters when he made his decision that crisp and colorful autumn day, though it turned soon enough into a storm and the wolves were hungry …

#

"Oh …" moaned Cogsworth as he made his rounds, "what is the matter with those wolves? Can't they just leave the castle alone? There's nothing to eat here."

He had not been asking anyone in particular. He would have moved on without an answer at all, but Lumiere who stood in the window looked down at Cogsworth then and said in great astonishment, "I think someone is outside!"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Cogsworth.

"It's true. Look for yourself," said Lumiere.

"Who would come here?" demanded Cogsworth. "There hasn't been anyone to the castle now in years. And good thing after what happened the last time."

Nevertheless he scrambled into the windowsill himself, but just as he straightened himself into an upright position, Cogsworth turned with annoyance to see that Lumiere decided now to hop out of the windowsill.

"What? Where are you going?" Cogsworth demanded, but before following him, something caught out of the corner of his eye. In alarm he saw that that someone Lumiere had spoken of had taken a dive right through the gate.

"No!" he gasped.

_It's unlocked_?!

Even if it was to shut out the wolves, the person, for indeed the figure could be nothing else, could not come here! No! Not after the Master locked up that one young man in the tower for months before his assisted escape from the household, and oh! he was not certain they could get away with another fiasco of that sort!

"Lumiere! No!" he growled, as he turned back to where Lumiere headed for the door.

But too late. Lumiere had already unlocked it.

"No! No! No! _NO_!" Cogsworth cried, falling out of the windowsill at his last animated exclamation.

But he was up in a flash, darting to the door just as Lumiere undid the lock.

"What do you think you're—have you forgotten the dungeon tower—you—you—if you don't relock that I'll—"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Oh, no," moaned Cogsworth, but Lumiere pulled him away quick as a flash, and both were soon upon a nearby table.

Stillness ensued. After years of experience most servants had acquired the ability to solidify themselves into their physical forms at will; though just as the poor man opened the door, Cogsworth made a quick leer at Lumiere who had forgotten to turn out his light.

_Oh, fine_! Cogsworth thought, before slipping his face out of sight as the man took in his surroundings, and these were quite vast and impressive to behold and held much more attention that two simple, little objects upon a table.

"Hello?" asked the man timidly.

_This can't be happening … not again_, thought Cogsworth. He would have growled through his teeth had he not been trying to keep incognito.

"Hel-lo-o-o?" the man tried again gaining just a little courage as he stepped inside. After all, the door had been unlocked and practically unhinged for it had opened just while the man banged upon it.

_Lumiere … he did it on purpose_, thought Cogsworth. He should have been a floor polisher or a ceiling waxer rather than a porter. Whose idea was it for him to be a porter?

"The poor fellow must have lost his way in the woods," Lumiere then whispered as though in explanation for his actions.

Part of Cogsworth wanted to explode, but maintaining he whispered as quietly as he could given the circumstance and the way the castle made everything echo so, " … keep quiet … maybe he'll go away."

But of course, the villager did not go away. He heard both of them whispering, in soft tones or not, and Cogsworth much as he hated to admit it, had been the louder of the two.

"Not a word …" Cogsworth whispered softer than before, for he could see the light of an idea swirling above that flaming head of his companion. "Lumiere, not one word."

Lumiere just glared in return through half visible eyes.

"I don't mean to intrude, but I've lost my horse, and I need a place to stay for the night," the man called still politely and timidly, but to be polite and timid and a little bumbling, Oh! that was all the invitation Lumiere needed! This was no mere burglar or thrill seeker that they could agree on scaring away with voices and weird occurrences. This was an honest traveler, the likes of which would stir about the sympathies of the whole household, and would anyone other than Cogsworth see the consequences of receiving this traveler with open arms?

Of course not!

And what was all Lumiere could say when he should be saying nothing at all, as far as Cogsworth felt concerned: "Oh, Cogsworth, have a heart."

"Sh-sh-sh-shush!" hissed Cogsworth in return, covering Lumiere's mouth and hoping the man would not notice.

It was far too late to stop Lumiere now, however, and he would have none of stiff, old Cogsworth shushing him if he could help it. Thus holding a candle under Cogsworth's hand the heat swept through the brass arm of the clock fast enough. He released his hold fast enough with a cry.

"Of course, Monsieur!" exclaimed Lumiere with arms thrown wide. "You're welcome here!"

And while Cogsworth attempted to cool his heated hand by blowing on it, the man snatched up the candelabra to better see from whom the greetings had come.

"Who said that?"

"Over here!"

"Where?"

Lumiere knocked on his head. The traveler looked at the candelabra.

"Hello."

_GASP!_

Drop.

The light went out but only temporarily.

Cogsworth slapped his forehead, teeth grinding together in exasperation before leaping off the table in a fit of passion to tell Lumiere he told him so.

But did he know better? Of course, neither knew what would become of this visit in the long run for the benefit of them all.

* * *

_NOTE: There's one more after this._


	12. Chapter 12

JMJ

TWELVE

As fast as his legs could carry him, Chip raced through the classical corridors, white and shining as of old beset with angels and holy figures, heroes and ladies, and intensely baroque artistic endeavors and regal animals. As a child, of course, he paid little attention to the décor, but he was one year older. Another year older a month or so ago, and he could hardly believe what he wanted to tell his mother.

"Hey, _Maman_! _Maman_! Guess what! Guess what!"

Weaving his way into the kitchen with boyish agility he at last found his mother about to leave with her cart.

"Guess what, guess what!" Chip gasped.

Mrs. Potts laughed. "Alright, what _is_ it, Chip?" she said. "I heard you clear down the hall."

"I measured myself against this one painting I used to measure myself at, and I grew _Maman_! I grew at least this much!" and he held out his pointer and thumb to so at least two inches worth of height and as far as his thumb and finger to stretch apart, which was an exaggeration, but the intent was all that mattered.

"That's wonderful, dear," said Mrs. Potts with a stroke of a hand through his hair. "Now you can grow to be the finest young man in all of France."

"Really?" said Chip, then he paused. "Isn't that the Master though?"

Again Mrs. Potts laughed a little louder this time, and she just managed to give the little boy a peck upon his moppish head before he darted off again to tell his siblings the good news as well about his growth. He almost ran into Cogsworth as he came in through the door. Cogsworth jumped with a start to get out of the way just in time before the collision.

"What's the whirlwind all about?" he demanded not in true annoyance as he glanced behind him to where the boy had run off. None of the servants had lost all their gaiety at their own freedom, and most never would until moment of death.

"He's just excited," said Mrs. Potts. "It's a year to the day since we've become ourselves again, and dear Chip's finally realized that he won't be a child forever."

"Yes," agreed Cogsworth now that the topic had been brought up, and he furrowed his brow in thought of the idea, "I suppose it was rather strange that way for the children who had to spend twenty-one years without aging not even in mind. I had not thought of that much."

"We were all in just as strange a predicament," Mrs. Potts said.

Cogsworth gave a sage nod. "True, true."

He glanced just the briefest at his pocket watch; though not truly to check the time so much as just a visual reminder of what had happened to him. Not that he needed one, but it felt right to keep it on his person, that very same watch working as good as new.

Certainly it had been what had merged with his body during the curse even if he had turned into a clock rather than a watch, for the clock hands were exactly the same though in miniature as those that had been on his own face for years and years. Sometimes at night he found it eerily silent without the ticking of that pendulum echoing in his head so that he set the watch open upon his bed stand to hear its soft ticking to ease what unfortunately had become normal before he could fade out the need for its sound entirely. But whenever he awoke though a year had passed, he still awoke with the greatest smile to find himself in his own bed and that sleep had to be wiped away and that he had to wash his face and dress himself. Oh, the pleasure in such ordinary things that had been forbidden to him for so long!

Clearing his throat and straightening his posture, he clipped the watch closed and said, "Now then, how is supper getting along?"

"You'll have to ask Chef Honoré," Mrs. Potts replied. "But I'm certain it's all going well."

"Of course!" said Cogsworth. "I'm sure he's doing his finest for the anniversary of our de-enchantment." He chuckled. "Minus, of course, the wedding anniversary of the dear Master Adam and Princess Belle, next week, naturally." He stepped further into the kitchen to speak to the very busy Chef Honoré and his cooks, but before he went more than a couple steps he stopped suddenly and swiveled around. "Speaking of weddings, by the way, Lumiere and Elizabeth are coming back today aren't they, Mrs. Potts?"

"I believe so," said Mrs. Potts. "If not today then very early next week."

They had been married months ago but had been allowed a leave of quite a long time to enjoy themselves. Paris. How could it not be Paris? But they had promised to come back and work their hardest upon their return. The Master, regardless, was more than willing to give this present to the pair, for he was, since he had become human again, quite a new man from the one he had been before, and he realized how much Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, and many of the other servants had gone far above and beyond the call of duty and how much they had put up with him and tried desperately to help him during his enchantment. He had felt it a simple enough gift to give Lumiere and his new wife paid leave to their favorite city.

"Well, I know," said Cogsworth in a rather serious matter, "that they would not dare to miss next week."

He stepped forward again toward the cooks, but Honoré noticing the head of the household, called out in his booming voice, "Everything is going well, _Merci beaucoup_!"

"Ah, very good," said Cogsworth and turned to leave to finish his rounds.

In a corridor not far from the kitchen Cogsworth was surprised to find Maurice standing at the window. Well, after all, there were plenty of more comfortable places to situate one's self, but he would have done nothing but given him a pleasant, "Sir" had not Maurice suddenly spoke.

"I can't believe how lucky we are, even after a whole year," Maurice said this in reference to himself and his daughter.

Cogsworth stopped as this declaration seemed in part to be directed at him.

"Can you believe this?" Maurice went on. "I could not have hoped for a better ending in all the world for Belle!"

Maurice then turned his gaze back with a happy smile out the window at Princess Belle and her husband. Leaning into the windowsill with his chin resting upon his palm he let out the most content fatherly sigh, and although this was something Cogsworth could not exactly relate to having no children of his own, he followed the gaze of this happy father with a smile of his own out toward the handsome and now rather dashing Prince Adam in the garden with his beautiful wife Belle playing with Biscuit, and just enjoying each other's company among the young spring flowers just poking out after their long winter's hibernation.

Then he glanced again at Maurice for a moment and could not help but also think that it was far past a year now since he had first been introduced to Maurice under the odd circumstances that they were. He had vowed long before their meeting never to get his hopes up. Even so how could he have possibly imagined how after all his struggles to make Maurice leave the castle so that he would not be locked up or worse that Maurice had been the key, indirect though it may have been, to the freedom of the Master and the freedom of the entire household?

He shook his head and the thoughts out of it.

In reply to what Maurice had just recently, Cogsworth opened his mouth so say something, but just as he began Maurice spoke again.

"I'm the luckiest man to see his daughter so happy," Maurice went on; being of a lower class originally he ever spoke to the servants as equals, and never grew used to the formality of the castle. In the old days this would have annoyed Cogsworth to no end, but not anymore. He was just happy to be alive, and if the little, old man wanted to have informal conversations with the servants in his simple, little way who could complain now? "Can anything be more amazing than all this?"

Cogsworth laughed. "Not that I can think of, sir. Nothing at all."

"Oh!" Maurice said, thinking about what had just transpired and he looked a little embarrassed. "Yes, I guess it may be more amazing for all of you more than it is for me, isn't it? Sorry, I didn't think—"

With a firm shake of his head Cogsworth said, "Please, monsieur, please! Think nothing of it, really. There's absolutely nothing, _nothing _whatsoever to apologize for. We're all quite happy with how things have turned out and cannot believe it ourselves. In fact the entire castle is most grateful to you."

"To me?" asked Maurice.

"Of course, monsieur," said Cogsworth. "To both you and Princess Belle we are ever indebted, and not just because of the breaking of the enchantment, but for the good you and your daughter have brought to this castle and to Master Adam. The castle is more fully alive than it ever was before the enchantment for as long as I can remember, and though one might say that it is only that the castle is still giddy with its release from the curse, it could never have happened without you two."

"Well," said Maurice a little shyly now, "it wouldn't've had to have been us."

"If I may, monsieur, it most certainly did have to be you and your daughter, for beyond the fact that it was fated that the princess arrived at the very last possible moment before we would have been trapped forever, there could never be a better suited for each other."

"I agree!" said Maurice. "Oh!" he gasped leaping around. "And do you know that I just was told what she's going to name the baby."

There was plenty of time before the baby would be born and for name ideas to be changed, but Cogsworth in patience told him that, no, he was afraid he had not.

He started quickly at first: "She says if it's a boy she will name him after, well, me, actually, but I hope it's a girl," Maurice said and smiled before he continued more slowly, "She'll name her after her mother then."

Cogsworth smiled and nodded not quite certain how to answer.

"Belle is quite like her mother, you know," Maurice went on. "Beautiful, thoughtful, and a natural grace. I would love to hear the name 'Monique' used for her daughter."

Cogsworth at first smiled and nodded some more, "Yes, sir, 'Monique' is an exceptional—" The smile vanished, and Cogsworth's eyes grew wide as he registered what had just been said. "Wh—wh—Excuse me, monsieur?" he said with a bow.

"What is it?" asked Maurice. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No!" gasped Cogsworth. "No, please, I … Did you say, monsieur, that your wife, begging your pardon, that her name was 'Monique'?"

"Well, yes …" said Maurice.

_There are a thousand Moniques in France, Basile,_ Cogsworth drilled to himself. _Perhaps ten thousand Moniques in France. It's a coincidence! A pure coincidence._

"Is that …?" Maurice started to say.

"No, no, it's quite alright, monsieur, really," said Cogsworth with a nervous chuckle as he made to leave. "It's nothing, really. I beg your pardon, monsieur. It is a most admirable thing to have one's child name her children after her parents. Prince Adam himself is named after his grandfather. I beg your pardon," he then said again. "I must go, though. I have a very busy schedule."

"Oh, sure, sure …" said Maurice still a little bewildered.

But Cogsworth was not about to try to explain that the name of his wife had brought up in Cogsworth's mind a whole tale now long past. Turning around a corner or two, he paused suddenly and glanced behind him though Maurice had not been following.

It was true, Cogsworth had to admit, that when Belle had first arrived at the castle that she reminded him very much of Monique. For a few paces of the pendulum's seconds he had thought she was Monique before his mind refocused onto the excited Lumiere and reason returned to Cogsworth as he retorted that he knew quite well _what_ Belle was. It had not been so long that he had forgotten what a girl looked like, after all, but after he and Lumiere followed her, and then led her to the tower staircase, Cogsworth had watched her take the flight up those stairs and aside from an acute pity for the young woman still practically a child, he could not help the flashback of Monique as she turned and faced the Master, the beast that one dark morning at the castle steps.

Returning to the present, Cogsworth started walking again.

It could argued that any girl would have reminded Cogsworth of Monique at that point, and yet, there was something in her voice, something in her eyes, something unmistakably Monique even if the provincial life had made belle less delicate than Monique. Had it really been that many years that Monique could have married and had a daughter? Well, twenty-one years was a long time … And there were many other questions besides that such as what had happened to the St. Gervais estate? Who was Maurice that he should marry a duke's daughter? How long had they been living in that village outside the wood?

"But another time," he told himself.

Today was a party, after all, and next week was the wedding anniversary. Cogsworth had not been exaggerating to Maurice that he had plenty to do with the orchestrating of these things, especially with the fact that they were going to invite half of France's elite to the wedding anniversary party. He was not as uptight as he had been in times past, but his duties to the castle and to the prince and princess had not changed in the least. Whatever the past, they were now all free, and he realized more importantly, that Master Adam had become someone that would have made his parents proud, and the angels, the heroes, the ladies, and holy people that guarded the castle in statuary form certainly smiled upon the handsome couple in the gardens outside.

~FIN~

* * *

_NOTE: Well, that's the end. I hope you liked it despite my taking artistic license with the time frame and when the curse was broken. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I've become a little more fond of this than I thought I would. I also had some fun learning a little bit about 1700's France, which I looked up a little just to add a little flavor to the fic. I'm usually more of a Victorian girl or medieval. All this French stuff has also really made me wish I could take up French again XD. See ya! ^-^_


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